Echoes
by silver sniper of night
Summary: It's been eight months since the accident Rose Tyler can't remember and the blank space where her memories should be invite questions she's not sure she wants answered. Post JE, Ten II/Rose.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I started this as a break from writing other stories, and to deal with dissertation madness. It sort of took on a life of ****its own. If you read my other stories, they will be continued. I just needed to do something fresh. **

**Thank you to Lamia for pre-reading, and to Latessitrice for the beta work. They are both amazing. And Maria just because I love her and she listens to my random ideas, even though she's never watched Who. **

**Enjoy. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

"Rose, what the hell are you doing? Hurry up!"

She rolled her eyes and followed, her too-high heels making the distance seem further than it was. She was walking slower than necessary, and in the end, Charlotte had to stop and link arms with her in fear she'd get lost in the crowd.

_I shouldn't be here. This is all wrong. I'm not meant to be here, in this place, in this moment. _

The feeling was so familiar that she barely bothered acknowledging it, but its nagging persistence was not. She flashed a smile at the bouncer, those in line whispering behind their hands as they were instantly granted entrance. That was normal, as was Charlotte's chatter, order of two Martinis and scan for her next target. What wasn't normal was the feeling of displacement.

It was easier to think of these feelings in terms of physical pain. The heartburn lasted hours, gradually fading away into nothing. She couldn't predict why or when it would happen, but with time she'd learned to deal with it. The alternative was hard, fast and blindingly overwhelming, just like a phantom stomach cramp. Fortunately, after eight months, she'd discovered everything that caused it.

This was nothing like it. The feeling of not belonging was...a headache. A constant thrum in the background that was always there. It was annoying, new and not what she wanted right now. She wanted to help Charlotte drink herself into a stupor, so she'd forget about that asshole Michael, and then grab food on the way home, and finally sleep. Instead, she was going to be bothered by this feeling all night.

"What about him?" Charlotte asked, pointing at guy by the bar. Rose raised an eyebrow and swallowed a gulp of the Martini. Perhaps if she was hammered, she wouldn't feel like this...

"Gay."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Urg," Charlotte slumped in her chair, then frowned.

"Everything alright?"

Rose shook her head, the usual sign for how she was feeling. Charlotte leaned forward, worry clouding her features.

"Do you want to go home?" she asked. Rose shook her head vehemently. Instead, she picked up her drink and downed the last of it.

"I would like another drink though," she said with a grin and a wave of her glass.

#~#~#

It had been eight months since she'd woken up in the hospital bed. A car accident was what they'd told her, and she tried not to let herself disagree. Despite her mother's insistence that the accident had been terrible, she'd left the hospital after less than a week. Apart from four stitches on her forehead, she had no other injuries. Scars, yes, plenty of them. But they were old, possibly years old, and Rose was sure none of them were from a car accident. Well, as sure as she'd ever be.

Her memory had been deeply affected. Whatever had happened to her meant that her memories were practically wiped clean of the events leading up to the accident, and hazy for years before it. She remembered snatches, events and faces, not all of which made sense to her. This was combined with nightmares and dreams of varying intensity, some that may have been the past fighting to get through, and others that were pure imagination. She wished she knew the difference. The doctors said this was normal though. Her mind tried to compensate, memories blurred with wishes and nighttime fantasies until she could be only sure of the truth she could see in the present.

She was Rose Tyler, she was twenty-six, and she worked in a department store part-time while working on her undergraduate degree in War Studies, Government and Diplomacy. Her parents were Jackie and Pete Tyler, and her little brother Tony was five years old, and the most adorable child she'd ever met. Since her accident, she'd moved back in with her parents, but according to them, she had her own apartment in London. They'd retrieved most of her things while she was in hospital, and at the moment, she didn't feel like returning. Perhaps it was one of the things buried in her own mind keeping her away, but she really didn't want to go back.

Despite this knowledge, there were parts of her memory that didn't correlate. None of her childhood memories contained her father, and she even believed in the early days after the accident that she could recall being told he was dead. Jackie hadn't been a huge amount of help in this, stating that he'd 'been somewhere else' during her childhood, which Rose interpreted as 'with someone else.' Jackie obviously didn't want to talk about it, possibly because she'd told her as a child he'd died when it was obvious he was alive and kicking, owning companies and selling health drinks. Their remarriage made sense, considering she remembered living in a place that was extremely different from the mansion her parents lived in now, the polar opposite in fact. She also suspected that it had a little to do with her mind compensating due to what she didn't know. She had memories of knowing her father died in a car accident, when in reality her memories had been stolen by a car accident. The connection seemed more than obvious.  
>Even without knowing exactly how her parents had been reunited, she knew without question that they were happy now. She could see it, and more than that, she felt it like a too stubborn memory that the accident could not erase. They were happy, in love and contented. Just as they should be.<p>

It was probably strange that she worked in Knightsbridge. Of course, Pete made it so she only saw customers of a certain clientele, mostly people that worked for him. He said something about her protection and welfare, and she understood that. Not to mention that the press would have a field day if the eldest Tyler child was working in a supermarket. She didn't mind though. She'd only started working after the accident, determined to do something for herself that was new and had nothing to do with the unknown. Shop work seemed comforting, and comfort was not something she had much of. Charlotte and another girl Alicia were the only friends she'd made at her job, and they knew about her memory troubles. Her parents, and the occasional colleague of her father's that was invited to meet the family, all walked on egg shells around her.

She wished she could remember. Some days, she'd wake up and she could almost taste her former self, as if she'd been her in sleep. The doctors said she could remember, if given enough time. But after eight months, Rose wasn't sure that was possible. Her parents refused to help her, which was frustrating. It was apparently important she remembered by herself, and after a few weeks, she'd stopped asking for hints. She also had the faint suspicion there was something more that they knew, triggered by her thoughts about the crash itself. She hated thinking she couldn't trust them.

Rose stepped out of the private car that dropped her at the front door, cheerfully waving at the driver with her heels, which she'd abandoned when her feet started to ache. She practically skipped up the stairs barefoot, giggling to herself as she fumbled with the front door key.

"Be smooth Rose...smooootthhhhh..." The word tasted fabulous in her mouth, and she repeated it over and over as she stumbled into the dark kitchen, groping for a glass of water. She winced as light flooded the kitchen, and turned to see Pete standing in the doorway, looking amused at her attempts to do a simple task.

"Stand over there, and don't touch anything," he said, pointing to the opposite side of the room. Rose held her hands up in surrender, backing away, and almost slipping.

"Did I wake you?" she asked as her father successful poured water into a glass.

"Nah, I've been up for hours. We have an... issue."

He handed her the glass and she sipped dutifully. The water tasted like the best drink in the world, and she wondered for a moment why she ever wanted to drink anything else.

"Sounds serious," she remarked, before draining the whole glass. Pete took it off her and filled up again.

"It'll be fine. I've got the best people on it. You gonna be okay?" he asked as she pushed off from the counter and took the newly filled glass.

"Promise I'll call if I need a doctor," she said with a laugh.

Her father's poker face was good, but not good enough. Rose winced. She knew it must have been tough for her parents when she had her accident, whatever it was. Mentioning doctors in front of them was taboo, but in her drunken state, she'd forgotten.

"Sorry. G'night," she muttered, fleeing upstairs before she could say anything else stupid.

Her head was already spinning as she fell into bed, and she closed her eyes against the slight pain that was already surfacing.

"I probably do need a doctor," she muttered to herself. It was the last thought in her mind before she fell asleep.

#~#~#

"You shouldn't be gadding around town at 2AM, even if it was a Friday night. Tony, no toys at the table. Honestly, Rose, in your condition you should be taking it easy. Pete, for goodness sake, a computer should NOT be on my breakfast table, Torchwood can wait. Do you want juice?"

Rose blinked at her mother, not in a state to keep up with her mum's conversation. She shook her head at the juice, sticking to her inoffensive toast and tea. Despite the fact that they had a live in cook, Jackie liked it to just be the family for the morning meal.

_I shouldn't be here. I don't belong here. _

"Not again," she muttered to herself.

"Rosie, can I have a story? I have a new one!"

"Sure, sweetheart, you have to finish breakfast though," she warned the blond boy at the end of the table.

"I don't like bananas," he moaned, scowling at the fruit on his plate.

"They taste awful in this reality," she answered. Her parents both froze, looking up waiting, praying that this time...

Her eyes defocused for a second, glazing over, her muscles in her body tightening for less than two seconds. Jackie closed her eyes against the wave of pain as her daughter returned to her food without any indication she'd said a word. She walked over to Tony, and began convincing him to eat, willing the tears not to fall.

"What did you say?" Pete asked. Rose peered at him, confused.

"I told Tony to finish eating."

Pete nodded, abandoning his project, and pulling up his email.

"All done! Story time!"

Rose nodded, and stuffed the last piece of toast into her mouth before following her brother into the lounge.

"I have a new one!" he said proudly, brandishing a pristine book in her direction.

"Let's see then," Rose said, sitting down and allowing him to climb into her lap before she took a look at the cover.

"Little Red Riding Hood. Aren't you a bit old for something that easy?" she asked.

"Nuh-uh. No one's ever too old for fairytales," he replied seriously, causing her to laugh.

"Oh yeah, and who told you that?"

"Daddy's friend."

Ah. Another employee trying to gain favour through impressing Tony. That made sense. She couldn't see either of her parents buying this sort of book for him. She had to admit though, it was a lovely edition. The illustration was amazing, if eerie. A little blond child stood facing away from the book, her hair shining like a halo around her. The red of her cape stood out against dark swirls and brambles of the wood. Rose wished she could see the child's face, but before she could ponder it further, Tony whined for the story to begin.

"Okay," she said, opening the page so the both of them could see the words and pictures, "here we go."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you**** so much for the reviews and support for the first chapter, I really appreciate it. I'm hoping to be able to do weekly updates from now on. **

**Thank you to the lovely Lamia for pre-reading and to Latessitrice, my amazing beta. Latessitrice has made a fabulous banner for this story, the link is on my profile, so go take a look. **

**Hope you all enjoy.  
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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

The book was different from any other children's book she'd ever seen. It looked old, ornate and expensive, not something you'd ever trust to a five year old. The words spiralled and twisted around illustrations, all of them just as perfect as the front cover. Rose read the familiar tale, even putting on a childish voice for Little Red Riding Hood. Tony giggled and played along all the way through, clapping once the last page was turned.

"I have a whole set of fairytales, can we read more?"

Before Rose could even open her mouth, Jackie yelled from the kitchen.

"Not now, Tony. Now it's time to get dressed."

Tony squealed predictably, squirming out of her lap and running as fast as he could in a different direction. Dressing meant washing, and washing was not something Tony Tyler enjoyed. Rose smiled to herself as the morning chase began, absently flicking through the page of Tony's story book.

"Big bad wolf," she murmured under her breath as she scanned the pages, the pictures melting into gold, black and red before her eyes.

#~#~#

"You have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, Rose. You too, Tony. Actually, you do as well Pete-I thought it was easier to get you all over and done with on the same day."

The three Tylers stared blankly at Jackie as she made her announcement on Monday morning, none of them awake enough to process this, and all of them none too happy about the upcoming visit.

"I don't need a doctor," Tony whined, almost spilling juice down his front. Pete quickly snatched the cup away from him, and in a voice remarkably like his son said, "Neither do I."

Jackie and Rose both rolled their eyes. "Tony, it's a check up, sweetheart. No more injections, I promise," she said as he glared at her. "Pete, if you don't like your monthly exam, then get another job. Are you going to argue with me?" she said turning to Rose, who held her hands up in surrender.

"Nope, I'm all good to go. Memory tests and blood samples, I know the drill. And now, gotta go to class."

Rose stood, dramatically kissed her brother loudly on the cheek, who pretended to push her away, giggling all the time.

"Have a good day," Pete called as she headed for the door.

"Remember we have company tonight!" Jackie called as she shrugged on her coat. Rose groaned as she headed out the door.

"How could I forget," she muttered, knowing this day was going to be both long and frustrating.

The traffic was its usual disarray for a Monday, and Rose almost wished she wasn't the one in the driver's seat, but automatically thought better of it. While she didn't mind the occasional lift from the chauffeur, she didn't like it on a regular basis. Having her own car was fine, and drew far less attention to her. Her face was already frequently in the press, she didn't need anything more eyes on her. She arrived at her lecture just in time, taking what was now her usual seat at the back. As the lecturer began what was already obviously a long and dull commentary on the foreign policy of eighteenth-century France, her mind began to wander. She scanned the room for anyone she recognised, any person that would trigger a memory. Of course, nothing happened. If it hadn't happened before, it probably wasn't going to start now.

She didn't know if she had any friends in her classes, but after missing almost three weeks of classes, no one came up to her on her return. It had hurt, even though she had no idea what her life had been like before. She couldn't even explain why she had picked a degree in War Studies, Government and Diplomacy. She enjoyed it, there was no point denying it. And it seemed that her memory was pretty much intact when it came to her studies, but sometimes her facts seemed a little off. She supposed that was normal though. Her isolation though, that couldn't be normal. She wasn't the typical undergraduate age, but she wasn't the oldest in her classes, not by a mile. She was in her second year too, and still no one even said hello to her. Rose had wondered when she first returned if she should try, but she had no idea if anything had happened before. Part of it, she guessed, was that being a Tyler meant her face was in the press every week. She wasn't sure she would immediately seek out the company of someone like that. But still...

The class ended, and Rose left quickly, her eyes filling with tears.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, swiping at the tears with her sleeve as she made her way out of the building and began the trek to the library. She practically ran up the seven floors to the top of Senate House, ignoring the burn in her chest as she did. She was running, always running. Running from the thought of who she was before, from the person she could be now, running from _him..._

She stopped in the middle of the stacks, her breathing echoing in the dark and grey room. She swallowed, her eyes focusing on the books in front of her.

There was no him. She didn't know why, but she knew, even as she stood here that there was no strange male in her life that she could be running from. The fact that she'd just thought that... She shivered, dashing out from between the stacks and to one of the small desks that looked as if it were part of the wall. She pulled out her laptop, trying to focus on the essay she had to hand in next week. There was no him. No man had chased her into a car and driven her off the road. No one had done that to her. Someone would have told her that. Wouldn't they?

#~#~#

She hid in the library until closing time, focused on her work, and ignoring the strange feeling she'd had earlier. As she left, she pulled out her phone, surprised to see she had four missed calls.

"What's wrong?" she asked as Jackie called for the fifth time as she walked out of the building.

"Where are you? Rose, it's nearly seven, you know we have company tonight!"

Rose groaned. She'd forgotten. "Mum, I won't be long, I'm getting in the car now."

"Hurry," Jackie snapped, before the line went dead on her. Rose glared at the phone, and remained annoyed all the way back to the house. She was tired and hungry, but really didn't want to deal with a Torchwood dinner. Her father was a work-a-holic, and every week there was someone from the office having dinner with the family. She spent most of the time making faces at Tony and trying not to roll her eyes at the poor man or woman's attempts at flattery. Except for when...

"Oh no. Not today. Any day but today," she moaned as she pulled up next to the bright yellow car parked terribly in the driveway. She wondered if it would be possible if she could ram it with her car, just for parking it that way. It was practically diagonal.

She slouched her way to the front door, opening it slowly, until Jackie yanked it open, causing her nearly to fall into her.

"What are you playing at?"

"Nothing," she hissed, before running up the stairs and straight to her room, hearing Jackie yell after her that dinner was in ten minutes. Rose shut her door and slammed her head against the back of the door in frustration. It took her all the ten minutes for her to make herself look presentable, and she spent that whole ten minutes hating herself for needing to do this.

She plastered a smile on her face as she walked into the dining room, conversation halting as she did.

"Good evening, Rose Tyler," he said, far more cheerfully than was necessary.

"Evening Doctor Smith," she said, glancing in his direction before taking her seat as quickly as she could. He smiled brightly at her, before turning his attention back to Pete and whatever they were discussing. Rose sighed and tried not to sink down in her chair.

If she was honest with her self, out of all her father's colleagues, Doctor John Smith was the only one she could remotely stand. He didn't try to suck up to Pete, and actually seemed to have a genuine interest in coming to dinner. But that was where her good feelings towards him ended. The man was a complete disaster. He was bloody annoying, arrogant and a little bit in love with himself. She'd seen him check himself out in a spoon before, and he constantly moaned about how terrible his team were. He always introduced himself with his title and name, and was deeply offended if someone called him plain old John Smith. He had the annoying habit of talking too loudly and too quickly, as well as gesturing so much he'd sent dishes flying on more than one occasion. He drove a bright yellow car, badly. She had no idea how he'd even managed to pass a test; he drove with the hand break on half the time. He was also, she thought, certifiably insane. She'd walked in on him licking the bathroom wall a few weeks ago. He wore converse with every outfit, even one pair that were tied together with string to prevent them from falling apart.

He was also really attractive, so much so that she couldn't be in his presence without at the very least brushing her hair. And that was what annoyed her the most.

In her opinion, he spent way too much time at their house. She was the only one who shared this opinion though, considering Jackie doted on him like a long lost son, and he was Tony's idol. He also, she thought, had some horrific past or home life that she wasn't allowed to know about. She'd been rounded on by her mum when she'd once wondered aloud if he even had a home to go to that wasn't theirs. She wasn't surprised though. He seemed to radiate pain and loss; it clung to him like a second skin. He laughed too much, smiled too widely and was just that little bit too enthusiastic about everything. He wore a ring around his neck on a thin silver chain, and she wondered if he'd lost his wife. Perhaps that was another reason he annoyed her. His sadness seemed to pull her down, suffocate her even though she had no part in it. It hurt, physically to be near him at times. She had her own pain, her own second skin to deal with. She didn't want his too.

"I've spent too much time in America on business, I can't see myself wanting to go there for pleasure," Pete announced.

Rose finished off the remainder of her dinner, and forced herself to listen to her parents and Doctor Smith discuss holiday destinations.

"I always fancied the Germanic Isles...just to you know, see." Jackie finished with a glance at Rose, as if this somehow had meaning. Rose shrugged, having no interest in a group of small islands Germany had claimed in 1564, and no other power in the world wanted. They also didn't have a beach or a pool, which Rose assumed were requirements for her mother. Jackie nudged her with her arm, and Rose smiled.

"Alright then missy, where would you go?"

"Barcelona."

"Oh, I never thought of Spain. We were gonna go there before Tony was born, do you..."

Rose stopped listening, her hands beginning to shake and her body temperature rising. She hadn't meant to say Barcelona. She didn't want to go to Spain, she'd been on a school trip and swore she'd never gone back. But she'd said Barcelona... Except she hadn't. Her mouth had moved, she'd used her vocal cords but she hadn't spoken. She hadn't said it.

_This is all wrong. It isn't mean to be this way. I'm not meant to be this way. _

Barcelona, Barcelona, Barcelona. She said it three times in her head and no, it wasn't a magic word. Her mind didn't flood with memories, and nothing fell into place. Then why was something different? Why did a place that had no meaning suddenly have meaning without her understanding it?

_All wrong. So so wrong..._

"Rose? What's wrong?"

Of all the people in the room to notice, it had to be Doctor Smith. It hurt. It really, really hurt, and just like so many things that had happened today, she couldn't understand why. She opened her mouth, not sure if she was going to scream, cry or tell him exactly what she really thought of him. In the end, she did neither. Her stomach rolled once, and before she had time to blink, she threw up on the table.

The whole room was silent. Rose clapped her hand over her mouth, completely and utterly mortified.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking, and tears spilling out over her eyes. Before anyone could comment, she stumbled out of her chair and ran for the nearest bathroom, collapsing onto the floor and dissolving into sobs.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you so much for the support for the last chapter, I really love hearing from you all. **

**Kartastrophe was kind enough to make me a fabulous banner, which you can see on my profile, so go take a look! **

**Thank you to Lamia, my amazing pre-reader and Latessitrice, my fantastic beta. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 3 <strong>

Rose sat in the waiting room of Doctor Richardson's office, staring idly at the posters on the walls: the dangers of smoking, sun burn, and the recently illegal flu vaccinations. Every month, she arrived at the special hospital for members of Torchwood staff, the same place she'd woken up eight months ago. They took blood samples, did all the basic health checks and finished up with a memory test. It was always the same result. She was in good health, nothing to worry about. Her mind was functioning properly, apart from that huge gap in her memories.

Seeing as it was a family trip to the doctor that day, Pete, Jackie and Tony sat with her as they waited for the doctor to return. Jackie fiddled with Tony's hair every few seconds, while the boy slapped her hand away, and immersed himself in his Nintendo. Pete paced. Rose sat. While she couldn't say she enjoyed these trips, they'd become so routine that they really didn't bother her anymore.

Jackie stood the moment that Doctor Richardson entered, and Rose sat up straighter. The doctor smiled at her, a smile that instantly had her on edge. There was something behind that smile, something worrying, something that made the doctor uneasy. No one else seemed to have noticed, and maybe she was reading too much into things. Either way she'd know in a moment.

"How is she?"

Jackie's voice snapped her back to the present, and Rose turned to her.

"Mum, I'm a big girl," she said, giving her hand a squeeze before following the doctor into her office.

"There's nothing to worry about. Your tests all proved you're just as healthy as you were last time, and there's no sign that your short term memory has been affected by the accident," she said as soon as they had sat down.

Rose nodded, knowing all this already. "But..."

Doctor Richardson paused, as if thinking exactly how to phrase her next words. "Have you experienced anything unusual with your memory? Anything different?"

Rose frowned. "Not especially. Why?" She tried not to think of what this could mean for her. She didn't want to get her hopes up.

"The test show that parts of your memory that were previously...blocked, shall we say, are responding. I wouldn't say it's enough yet for you to recall major events or long periods of time. But perhaps enough for you to get flashes of the past, or things becoming familiar."

Rose paused for a moment, absorbing her words. She couldn't say she was having flashes of the past, or that anything was becoming familiar. More that things around her were becoming unfamiliar. The knowledge that she was living a life that wasn't hers was always in the back of her mind, but it was yet to enlighten her as to what was wrong. And then there was the unfortunate vomiting incident...perhaps, though, she'd managed to scare Dr Smith off, which frankly wouldn't be a terrible thing.

"I'm been feeling...wrong." Rose admitted. "As if things are out of place. But I can't say I can remember anything properly. No people, no places, and nothing leading up to the accident," she said with a shrug.

To her amazement, Doctor Richardson grinned widely, her perfectly white teeth showing. Rose couldn't help but smile with her, though she wasn't sure why she was so happy.

"I know it may not feel like it Rose, but this is a huge breakthrough. We're hopeful that things should improve for you greatly now that you've overcome this first stage. That means I'll have to see you more frequently, but this is certainly good news."

Of course, Jackie was over the moon at her daughter's sudden progress. Although Rose attempted to explain that it was too early to really celebrate, it fell on deaf ears.

"The doctor said you should do some memory exercises, what do you think of that sweetheart?" she asked as they drove back home.

"I don't really understand how I'm going to do an exercise on remembering if I do not know what I'm trying to remember."

"Well, just try it." Rose shook her head and stared out of the window, deciding one breakthrough was enough for today.

#~#~#

"I actually get to work tomorrow? I wonder who my dad bribed this time."

Charlotte laughed. "Make sure he gives you a decent commission. So, Alicia wants to go out this weekend, you in? Her mum knows someone in..."

Rose half listened to the conversation for the next fifteen minutes, managing to somehow agree to a night out that she was certain her mother wouldn't approve of. With a promise of meeting her in the morning, Charlotte left, and Rose found herself staring at the walls of her room.

Memory exercises. They sounded simple enough. Listing what she knew about something, and going back as far as she could, seeing what she knew and what she didn't. The sound of manic giggling and pounding feet caused her to smile, and gave her an idea of where to start.

Tony. He hated bananas and was addicted to Fredo frogs. He had chicken pox a few weeks after she'd come out of the hospital, and managed to give it to her as well. Her mum had insisted she'd had it before, but it seemed she had a knack for catching it. They had matching scars on their ankles from where they'd been unable to stop scratching. When he had a nightmare, he needed his stuffed pig called Moo Moo, a glass of milk and to sleep in her bed, or he'd just wake up again crying.

But she couldn't remember his fourth birthday. Or his third. Or even when he was born. She couldn't remember Jackie being pregnant, or why they'd chosen to call him Tony. She tried until she gave herself a headache.

"Why is this so hard?" she groaned, dropping her head into her hands. It was no good, she simply couldn't remember something she didn't know. She needed a clue, a hint, something to jog her memory.

"Of course. I'm an idiot!" she cried, jumping up and leaving her room. She made her way up the stairs to one of the smaller rooms that was used as storage, knowing she'd seen the photo albums somewhere. It was cheating, but maybe if she saw a picture of her brother's birthday, she might be able to remember it.

Her mother had, in her opinion, far too many photo albums. They sat in a row amongst books on the shelves, and she maneuvered past old and tatty looking furniture in order to stare up at them. Or at least, far too many when she was simply trying to remember one event. Guessing, she grabbed the light blue one for no reason other than blue was her favourite colour, and sat on one of the decrepit chairs. Her hands shook as she opened the first page.

In the end, she was disappointed. It turned out that the album was just of Jackie and Pete, on some holiday that they must have taken back when they were still dating. Her mother's hair was insane, and her father...had hair. It was sweet to see a piece of their past, but naturally didn't help her at all.

She turned to the last page, about to close the album when she noticed a photo tucked into the back binding of the album itself. Thinking it was misplaced, she gently tugged it from the plastic, and turned it over. Her breath caught, and her hand began to shake as she stared at it.

The picture was obviously taken at Christmas, from the decorations of the room she didn't recognise and the festive hats the people of the photograph wore. But it was a Christmas she didn't remember, and by the looks of it, one that she should. In the photo were her and John Smith. Just the two of them, no one else, both smiling brilliantly - all teeth and flushed faces.

Rose swallowed and stared at the picture, trying to ignore her shaking hands, and concentrating on the facts. It must have been taken a while ago. The smiling Rose had hair with far more bleach than hers did now, in a style she wasn't familiar with. Dr Smith was clean cut and wearing an awful brown suit that must have been in fashion long ago. Yet there was something else about the Rose in the photograph that just screamed 'young.' She couldn't pin point exactly what it was, but it was definitely there.

Rose turned the photograph over, looking for some hint of a year. There was nothing, no scribbled date or place that could help her. And despite the fact that it was obviously a memorable occasion, or at least it should have been if she was smiling like that, she felt nothing. No epiphany, no understanding, not even a flicker.

Rose jerked to life as the laughing scream of her brother echoed down the hallway. Suddenly feeling caught somewhere she shouldn't, she stood and placed the album carefully back on the shelf. She hesitated for am moment with the picture still in her hand, knowing she should put it back. However, something held her back. Although she didn't really understand what it meant, nor was she sure she wanted to know what it meant, it seemed as if a photo like this would belong to her. Or at least, the old her. So, with a quick glance out into the hallway to make sure no one saw her, she pushed it into the back pocket of her jeans and left the room.

#~#~#

"You look awful. What happened to you last night?" Charlotte's remark did nothing to improve Rose's mood as she swallowed her tea and attempted to stay awake enough for her client.

"Bad dreams."

Charlotte backed off a little at the remark, and Rose sighed, shaking her head and trying to clear the cobwebs away. Her sleep had been terrible, probably due to the photograph she'd stashed at the bottom of a drawer in her desk. She'd managed to wake up and focus a little on whatever Charlotte was talking about when Alicia practically ran into the room.

"I'm so jealous of you. Your client is waiting outside and he's _stunning,"_she gushed. Rose rolled her eyes as Charlotte immediately ran to the door to check.

"I really didn't think they made them hot at Torchwood. What's his name?" she remarked, grabbing her things together.

"Doctor John Smith. Emphasis on the doctor part. God I'd play doctor with him any day."

Rose froze, ignoring her friend's remark, and stared at the door in horror. Of all the people, and of all the days for him to turn up at her work, it had to be today.

_This is wrong. It's not meant to be like this. _

The feeling swept through her without warning, and she thought for a second she was going to pass out. She closed her eyes and swallowed heavily, waiting for the world to stop spinning and the feeling to subside.

"Rose? You okay, Sweetie?"

"I'm fine," she gasped, opening her eyes and coming face to face with her two friends. Charlotte immediately passed her a cup of water, and she drank deeply, forcing herself to calm down.

"You sure?" Alicia asked, her voice sounding sceptical.

"Yeah, I am. Better get to work," she said, plastering on a smile and marching toward the door as if she were going to war.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and support for the last chapter. Also, thank you to those who read and reviewed 'Spin and Spiral.' I really appreciate it. **

**Thank you to Lamia, my lovely pre-reader, and Latessitrice for her beta magic. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

"Ah, there you are Rose Tyler," he said, his mouth moving around her name as if tasting it. Rose swallowed, momentarily put off by his casual but slightly loaded greeting. She shook her head, forcing herself to believe she'd imagined his eyes light up when she walked in. She'd never noticed him have any particular reaction to her before she'd found the picture. She was drawing ridiculous conclusions.

"Here I am. How can I help you?" she said, switching to professional mode.

His grin faltered and he immediately sobered. "I need a suit. Two, in fact, one for general use, and one for the ball your father has generously invited me to."

Rose's stomach sank as she recalled said ball. Cameras, fake smiles and simpering followers. At least, that was her experience of the last event she'd been forced to attend. She had no idea if she'd enjoyed them before the accident, but she highly doubted it. Perhaps she had a better coping mechanism though - hopefully that memory would return soon.

"Suits, of course. Any colour or style that you would prefer?" she asked, running through her usual questions.

He mulled over the question, pulling faces as he did. "Dark colours I think, nothing too adventurous. Blacks, greys..."

"Brown?" Rose interrupted before she could stop herself. All at once, the atmosphere in the room changed. John stop speaking abruptly, his expression closing off and his eyes flashing darkly. The hairs on the back of Rose's neck stood on end and she found herself wanting nothing more than to run from the room.

"No," he insisted through clenched teeth. "Not brown."

"Okay," Rose said, her voice shaking and her heart pounding. She took two steps backwards and clenched her fists together. In a matter of seconds something in him had changed so deeply that she wished to be anywhere but here. She inhaled sharply, and he blinked, seeming to recover. He looked back at her, his eyes colouring with the sadness she knew so well. Before he spoke, she backed up against the door.

"I'll be back with your suits," she stammered. Her hands fumbled with the door handle and she shot out of the room before he could do anything further. As she practically ran down the stairs and to the shop floor, words and feelings rang through her mind.

_It__'__s__not__meant__to__be__like__this.__This__is__wrong.__All__of__this__is__wrong._

#~#~#

She was stalling, she knew it. She'd already picked a selection of suits, all in black and grey, and was now wandering through the mens' section aimlessly. Now that she'd overcome the shock of John's swift change in personality, she found herself wondering what exactly she'd witnessed upstairs. She didn't understand why he'd had such a reaction to a suit colour. She had photographic evidence that he'd worn a brown suit before, all be it, a very strange one. Yet he'd reacted with so much anger to the prospect of another one that she knew there had to be something more behind it. Rose sighed heavily, rubbing her temples as her head started to pound. He'd scared her. Scared her in a way that nothing she could remember ever had. It was an anger, a violence that made her flight response kick in, as there was something not quite..._right_about that level of anger. But what was probably the most frightening fact was how a part of her had recognised that reaction. There was just a tiny spark in the back of her mind that knew this anger, this part of John Smith that her current self did not.

She shivered, and as she turned around to head back upstairs, a suit caught her eye. She frowned and walked up to the hanger, inspecting it closer. She smiled, picked it up and walked back. He hadn't specified if he had anything against navy, but seeing as it wasn't brown, she assumed it would be safe. She passed by Charlotte as she made her way back to the private dressing rooms, who nodded and gave her a sly thumbs up at her choice. She smiled in return, and braced herself for what was coming next. Plastering a smile on her face, she entered the waiting room.

John Smith turned and smiled at her, already inspecting the suits she'd had sent up. He frowned as she handed over the blue suit. He took it slowly, as if not sure if he should touch it.

"I know it's not black or grey, but I thought it would suit you. Bit different too, and that's always a plus. Fabric's amazing quality, and the price is exceptionally reasonable considering it's designer," she said, sales woman back on in an instant.

"Reasonable?" he answered as he lifted the price tag. Rose resisted the urge to role her eyes. She was almost certain he would be using the company credit card for this, and that would make it more than affordable for his budget.

"Well if you suggest it, then I'll trust you," he said, winking and disappearing into the changing room, taking a selection of clothes with him. Rose gulped, her skin flushing, and was rather glad he'd gone before he'd noticed her reaction. She sat down heavily on the chair he'd recently vacated, and hoped the rest of this session would go quickly. It was too hot and dry in this room, and she wished there was a window to open. She almost jumped when his voice carried through the otherwise empty room.

"So how's university going?"

Rose mouthed a confused "what?" at the closed door. She couldn't recall him ever attempting to engage her in idle conversation before. After a moment, she realised she had to reply, and managed to turn words into a sentence.

"Fine, thank you. Spending the next three weeks on the French Revolution," she said, automatically wondering why she'd offered additional information. It was as if her mouth had a mind of its own, one that couldn't resist drawing him into conversation.

"Ah yes, 1789-99, storming of the Bastille, Reign of Terror and all that. Fascinating time period, very violent, and that Napoleon, interesting man, he..."

"You're wrong."

John stopped talking immediately, although Rose barely noticed due to the ringing in her ears. Her hands began to shake, but her voice somehow remained steady.

"The French Revolution was from 1793-1803."

The was a pause where all Rose could hear was the swish of fabric.

"My mistake, must have got my dates mixed up," he said cheerfully. Rose swallowed.

"Yeah. Funny, I made exactly the same mistake too. Same dates and everything."

Again, her comment was met with silence. Then, when she thought she wouldn't be able to take it anymore he spoke.

"Well, you know what they say, great minds think alike. And I am certainly a great mind."

And once again, she was back to disliking him severely. She was about to respond scathingly, when the door swung open and Dr Smith emerged in the blue suit. She swallowed her comment and just stared at him. There was something about a man in a suit that generally pushed her buttons, but John Smith in a suit was something else. She admired him for a moment, before smirking.

"I was right about the blue."

He grinned right back, a smile that for once reached his eyes. "You were. Do you like it?"

She swallowed, the air in the room seeming to have disappeared with those few words. Rose shivered, then stood her ground, looking right into his eyes when she said, "I do. Much better than the brown."

The fire in his eyes returned, but it wasn't the same. Less of the anger, more of the pain but far more volatile than the usual hurt that she saw in him. This time, he was the one who stepped back.

"What do you remember?" His voice was demanding, but with a faint note of something that she thought sounded like desperation. She dismissed that quickly. She was almost certainly wrong about that. She considered lying to him, creating a story about a sketchy memory based around a photograph, but she decided it would be best in the long run to not try.

"I don't. I found a photograph. Of us. You in a brown suit, me with platinum blond hair. It's Christmas."

To her surprise, he laughed. Something in the back of her mind rejected this, the hollow and painful laugh that he directed at her. She grimaced as tears threatened to escape, even though she had no idea why.

"Isn't the point that you remember yourself?" he asked, once he'd recovered.

"How am I meant to do that? I don't even know what I'm supposed to be remembering. But obviously, you do. You knew me before all this happened, right?" He nodded curtly. "Then help me. Just give me a hint, a clue. Something that might help. I'm fighting in the dark, I don't even know where to start!"

She was breathing heavily by the time she finished speaking, so emotionally and physically drained. Dr Smith closed his eyes, and ran a hand through his hair.

"I can't help you, Rose," he said, sounding just as tired as she felt. "You need to remember by yourself." He turned away and looked at himself once in the mirror. "I'll take this, the first grey and the third black."

"Just tell me one thing." Her voice sounded desperate, and he didn't bother to turn around as he walked into the changing room. He did stop though, so without really thinking it through, she said the first thought that crossed her mind.

"What were we?"

His shoulders shook, and on instinct, her hand reached out towards him, even though she had no idea what she was doing in this moment.

"Nothing."

The word cut through her, echoing louder than the slam of the changing room door behind him. Her hand fell down and she swallowed once. On unsteady legs she rose and made her way to the cash desk, instructing them on exactly what Dr Smith wanted. Then she calmly walked out of the shop, round the corner and right to the loading dock at the back. Then, and only then, when she was sure no one would see, did she let herself cry.

#~#~#

Rose picked her way through dinner, responding when she remembered to when her family spoke. Her brother seemed to pick up on her mood, and insisted on sitting on her lap once he'd finished his dinner.

"Will you play space invaders with me?" he asked, naming his favourite make believe game. As much as she loved playing with her brother, she didn't have the energy to pretend to fight off monsters from another galaxy tonight.

"Tomorrow, I promise we will play. I'm really tired right now." she said. Tony's face fell and he slid off her lap without another word. Rose closed her eyes, fighting off another bought of sadness as she did.

"Did something happen today?"

Pete's voice caused her to open her eyes. His voice was hard and cold, and she flinched at the tone. She didn't want another person shouting at her over the photograph today.

"Nothing," she said flatly, once again speaking without thinking. Her hand flew to her mouth as she began to cry again, completely powerless to stop herself.

"Rose," her father whispered, standing as he did, when she shook her head.

"I'm okay," she sobbed, having no clue why she was crying so hard or for so long. She'd skipped class and curled up in bed all afternoon, feeling annoyed that she was this upset, and frustrated that she had no idea why. Dr Smith had been a twat, a complete and utter twat, but that still didn't merit her feeling as terrible as she did. She swallowed a few times, trying to get control of her tears as she sobbed at the dinner table, Pete with his arm wrapped around her. Jackie brought her a glass of water, appearing from nowhere at the sound of her tears. After a few moments, she recovered. Her eyes stung from the amount of tears she'd shed, and her head ached so badly that she excused herself to bed.

She made her way up the stairs, her heels dragging, corridors passing in a blur. Her bed felt like perfection as she slid in, wrapping the covers over her so tightly she felt as she would never be able to escape. She closed her eyes, and tried to sleep. She turned over, and over, trying to get comfortable, but failing completely. In the end she sat up, lying back against the pillows and staring around the dark room. Her eyes fell on the drawer that contained the picture, and after a moment, she stood and walked over to it, turning on the lamp as she went.

Rose reached into the drawer, and picked up the photograph. She sighed, her hands tracing the outline of his face, the smile that she wore, and the way their bodies were pushed so close together. Her back hit the wall as she turned around, and she slid to the floor still holding the picture.

"Liar," she murmured, staring down at the photograph, "this wasn't nothing. I don't care what you say, you're lying."

And then, it happened. For a second, she felt as if she'd dipped out of reality, that everything had fallen away and she was seeing the world through another's eyes. It was only then that she realised it was a memory. It was as if her mind suddenly clicked into place, bringing something to her that had always belonged there.

She had sat, in this very corner of the room before, holding this picture. The room had been different, barer then, the walls a different colour. But she'd done this before, sat in the same position and stared down at their faces. And it had hurt. It had hurt in a similar way to how she'd been hurting today, but it was worse. She gasped as the memory of the pain seeped through her. Excruciating, biting pain that she almost wished she could forget. Almost. Rose smiled, still clutching the picture in her hands as the recalled pain subsided.

"Liar," she said.

For once, her head was silent.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and support for this story. So glad you're all still enjoying it. **

**Thank you to Latessitrice for her beta magic, and to Lamia for her pre-reading skills. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Rose felt half dead as she made her way through her early morning classes. Thankfully she was done before lunch time, so could escape back to the house. She didn't feel like doing anything but curling up in bed, napping and then starting on the plan for her next assignment. Dull as it was, she needed the solitude and monotonous events to counter yesterday.

When she entered the house, the phone was ringing. She dumped her bag in the hallway, and ran towards the phone, only to hear her mother's voice ring across the kitchen.

"Don't answer it."

Rose turned around, confused as her mother came towards her.

"Something I should know?" Rose asked.

Jackie shook her head. "I know who it is. No need to talk to them today. Now sweetheart, come and have lunch, you must be starving."

Rose shook her head, but allowed her mother to lead her into the phone continued to ring, a constant high-pitched chirping that she tried her best to ignore. She stopped Jackie before she rang the bell for the cook.

"I'm really not that hungry, I'll just grab something later. I'll have tea though, if you're making it," she added as her mother approached the kettle. The phone stopped ringing and Rose breathed a sigh of relief, only for it to startle her when it began ringing again. Jackie started muttering under her breath as she filled the kettle.

"If you're that desperate to avoid this person, unplug the phone. How long they been calling?" Rose asked. It was already starting to give her a headache, and she couldn't understand how her mother had dealt with it for any length of time.

Jackie contemplated this. "About eleven. So nearly two hours. I can't unplug it, Bev's calling later and it's important. She's going to leave a message so I'll know it's her."

Rose rolled her eyes at her mother's logic. While she waited for her tea, the phone rang three times, the person waiting for the answer machine to click in before hanging up and trying again. Whoever it was was gratingly persistent.

"Could you call Bev or get her to ring your mobile or something? I need a nap, and I really don't think I can with this racket."

Jackie acted as if she hadn't heard. "Here, take these with you. They'll keep you going, but you need lunch in a little while, Rose." Rose took the plate of chocolate digestives, knowing it was best to just go with it. Jackie kissed her on the cheek, and she made her way up the stairs, the ring of the phone and her mother's annoyed exclamation following her up the stairs.

#~#~#

Rose woke up from a dream in which she was being chased by a floating metal creature that turned into a robot at the last second and threw her down the stairs. She awoke just before she hit the ground, waking into white light that dissipated as she was thrust back into consciousness. Dreams that ended in falling always were the worst to wake up from, and this was no exception, her head pounding and her eyes aching as she sat up and looked around her room. She raised her knees to her chin, dipped her head and closed her eyes, willing the headache to stop. It didn't. It seemed like hours before her mind cleared of pain, and the haze of the dream world faded into the afternoon light.

By her recent dream standards, this was tame. Robots seemed to feature heavily, and she wondered if that was something to do with her little brother. Not that she made a habit of searching his toys, but she couldn't think of another explanation. Another favourite theme of her mind was being buried alive, thick dark being pressed in on her, down her throat until she awoke with a dry mouth and struggling to breathe. Thankfully, she hadn't experienced that one in a while. Right after the accident, her dreams mostly were of her sitting in room by herself while she watched everything there shatter and fall to pieces. Glass, wood, colour blurring and breaking in front of her until she was falling again, back into the white light that she'd fallen into this afternoon. It was either white or black she woke up in. Nothing else.

Noticing that it was almost four, she dressed and went down stairs, knowing that if she slept for much longer, her brother would be hammering on her door. As she reached the foot of the stairs, voices reached her ears.

"All day, Pete. All. Day. This has to stop, it isn't fair on any of us."

"Well what are we supposed to do? We can't just shut him out, you know that."

"I didn't say that, you know I don't want to. But maybe it's not a good idea to leave them alone again. I don't know what he said to her, but I haven't seen her like that since..."

"What's going on?" Rose asked, walking into the kitchen and causing her parents to jump.

"Oh sweetheart, you're up. Good, let's get some food in you. Tony's been asking about you, said you promised to play with him today. Better be ready for it, no use trying on an empty stomach."

Pete smiled and shook his head she spoke a mile a minute, then checked his watch. "I'd better go check...things," he finished, causing Jackie to glare, but she didn't say anything.

Rose sighed and walked into the kitchen, greeting her brother who was still in his school uniform. Before he could say anything further, Jackie took charge.

"You need to change - I'm not having that uniform ruined, those shirts are a nightmare to clean. Your sister needs to eat anyway, so by the time you're done she'll be ready to play."

"Okkaaayy," Tony yelled, his voice carrying as he raced out of the room and up the stairs.

"Better make sure you eat quickly," Jackie warned and Rose couldn't help but laugh. Her family were the best distraction.

#~#~#

"Alright. So who am I being today?" Rose asked as they stood in the grounds, Tony standing a few paces in front of her. Tony contemplated this for a moment.

"You're the human, I'm the alien."

Rose nodded sagely. Her brother was obsessed with aliens and space; most of his games involved space travel of some sort. She had no idea where he'd got this obsession from, seeing as her mother scoffed at Star Trek and she couldn't imagine her father interested in UFO sightings. Perhaps it was his friends at school, or maybe it was just something he'd developed by himself. Either way, he was certainly obsessed. She opened her mouth to ask for direction, when the sound of a car engine interrupted her. She turned to where she could just about see the driveway. She groaned and turned away when a flash of yellow caught her eye.

"Not today," she muttered, feeling both anger and hurt flash through her before she could stop it.

_It__'__s__ not__ meant __to __be__ like __this._

Whether or not it was meant to be like this, she needed to get a hold of herself. She was spending time with her brother, not focusing on a man or her mind. Her brother was five years old, full of energy and life, the complete opposite of how she felt today. While she would have loved nothing more than to cocoon herself up in lethargy and waste the afternoon away, she couldn't do that. She recalled his face from the night before, the disappointment and hurt that had crossed his features when she'd not wanted to play with him. If she could make that up to him now by playing whatever he wanted for an hour, then she'd do it, not matter how she was feeling.

"Let's move down a bit," Rose suggested, and Tony happily obliged, charging onwards until Rose told him to stop.

"Okay, what sort of alien are you Tony? E.T? All green with a giant head? Purple, stripey, do you change colour?" she asked, playing along with the game.

Tony giggled. "Alien's aren't green, Rose. They look like humans on the outside, but are different on the inside."

"Really? How do you know all this?"

Tony suddenly stopped and stood still for the first time since he'd come home from school. His face took on a strange expression, one that she'd seen when he'd accidentally broken one of the ugly dog ornaments that Jackie adored.

"Please don't tell Mummy I said that. I'm not meant to tell you."

Rose frowned. "Tell me what?"

But Tony shook his head, his mouth clamped shut as he returned to the role of secret keeper. Rose sighed, and resigned herself to not knowing. If it had anything to do with aliens, she was sure it didn't matter too much.

"Alright then Tony, tell me what I have to do."

Tony giddily launched into a complex explanation of Rose's role, something about her being an advocate for planet Earth and convincing him not to destroy the planet. It involved lots of running and jumping behind walls, and the occasional stopping to shout 'surrender!' or 'the people of Earth will not give up!'

After what felt like hours to Rose, Tony's game came to an end, and he allowed the people of earth to live peacefully. Rose bowed dramatically as he clapped.

"I am Rose Tyler, defender of the Earth!" she announced, hating how fake her voice sounded in her own ears. She wasn't particularly good at being an alien fighter, and didn't think she was playing her part well. But Tony nodded in agreement, pleased at the title she'd given herself. It was only a few minutes later as the two were making their way back to the house that she felt she could hear another voice whispering in her ear.

_Rose__ Tyler, __defender __of __the__ Earth._

The voice didn't stop as she entered the house, just repeating the phrase, smiling to herself unable to place what she was feeling. Her headache returned and she wished it could just stop, leave her alone and let her stay in the dark without her memories. The voice seemed just out of her reach too, a person with no face, name or memory for her, yet despite her wishing it would leave, she wanted to find it. Just like everything else, it was just over the wall her accident created, a wall too high for her to climb over.

#~#~#

Even though she couldn't see him immediately, she knew John Smith had to be in her house somewhere. She'd seen the awful yellow car, and was sure he would pop up somewhere unexpectedly, like he seemed to be doing a lot recently. Avoiding him would be both an effort and probably a waste of time, so she simply followed her brother through the house, waiting for the inevitable encounter. Sure enough, he was sitting at the kitchen table next to Pete, a cup of tea half drunk and wearing a suit he'd picked yesterday. Jackie was hovering nearby, a look of disapproval on her face, that disappeared when Tony ran to meet her.

"Rose is the defender of the Earth," he announced.

Rose smiled. "Yup," she stated, but anything else she could have said was cut off as Dr Smith accidentally knocked over his mug of tea, narrowly avoiding Pete's laptop as he did. Jackie began to fuss, making loud protestations about the fate of the particularly ugly china mug he'd been using. During the commotion, Rose realised something that had been staring her in the face all along: instead of just waiting for a memory to fall into place by magic, she should have been watching. She tried to ignore how on edge her family and those around her were, skirting around certain subjects and holding their breath for a breakthrough. She'd noticed it with John Smith yesterday, only she'd been too preoccupied with forcing the truth out of him verbally.

They reacted to her. Little things she said, mannerisms and occasional slips they made revealed something hidden to her.

She smiled to herself as she watched Dr Smith mop at the table with a dish cloth Jackie threw in his direction. She had been right. That feeling inside, the nagging voice was a memory. She was the defender of the Earth, whatever that meant. If only she could work out why such a random phrase was entwined with her past...

"Rose, what are you gawking at? Don't stand in the doorway, either come in or stay out," Jackie snapped, obviously losing control of the situation in the kitchen and trying to maintain a hold of something.

Deciding it was best to do as she was told, Rose entered the kitchen, deciding to entertain Tony while the rest of the adults sorted out the mess. She was part way through chopping up an apple when John Smith materialised beside her. Or at least, that's what it seemed like. She needed to pay better attention to her surroundings.

"Rose, can I have a word with you?" His syllables were so rushed together she could barely make out what he was saying.

"You've already had more than one," she replied without thinking, smiling brightly she turned to him, all teeth and brightness. It seemed to put him off for a moment, and she turned away, wondering again why she'd bothered. Although she knew he'd been lying yesterday, she had no desire to have another conversation with him. Apparently flirting didn't count in her reluctance.

"Yes, you can. What's up?" she asked, going back to her brother's fruit.

He shifted awkwardly beside her as she finished slicing.

"I'd prefer...not to do it here."

Rose put the apple on a plate, turned and handed it to her brother. "Eat it all, or no dessert tonight."

Tony pouted, and pouted well. Luckily it had no effect. "Be thankful it's not a banana," she replied, which worked in getting him to pop the first slice in his mouth, even though he made sure to make a show of how much he hated eating it as he chewed. Rose turned around to see Dr Smith studying her silently, his face impassive and almost bored. She arched an eyebrow. He looked away, putting his hands in his pockets as he did. Rose sighed.

"Outside?" she asked.

A throat cleared behind her, and she turned to see Jackie glaring in her direction, hands on her hips and shoulders set.

"Mum?" Rose asked, unsure of why she was being looked at like she was fifteen again.

Jackie seemed to realise in the same moment that she couldn't actually forbid her from doing anything, and Rose took the opportunity to swiftly leave the room, calling that she'd be back in a moment. She heard John Smith stumble over words of goodbye before following her through the house and out the front door. She slowed as she did so, waiting for him to catch up. He said nothing at first as they matched their pace together. She could wait.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you. So sorry." They didn't look at each other as they continued to walk, but Rose could tell he was both sincere and finding this difficult to say.

"It's fine."

Gravel crunched and the yellow car drew nearer. _This __is __wrong, __so __so __wrong _echoed with her heartbeat, but there was nothing she could do to change it.

"I shouldn't have asked really. As you said, I should be trying to remember." She decided to speak instead of reveling in the knowledge of how different everything should be.

She saw him nod from the corner of her eye, and she had the distinct feeling this should bother her. She turned, waiting for a sign from him, but he was implacable, his face showing nothing at all. She would have to let this one lie. Suddenly he stopped, midway between the car and the house, planting his feet into the gravel as if he were afraid of being dragged even a step further. Rose waited for less than a second, before turning to face him. His body automatically twisted to mirror hers, his suit flapping in the wind.

She inhaled and for a moment she could smell the sea. The wind, and the sun were combined with salt and it hurt, it hurt so much. Her eyes stung and watered, and when she opened her mouth, she could taste the cold sea air. They were miles away from shore, but she was near an ocean, drowning so abruptly that she was sure there could be nothing but water in the air.

Except she inhaled deeply, and choked, proving that there was air and she was nowhere near sea. As she coughed, Dr Smith jerked forward, hands coming up to pat her back awkwardly. He didn't seem to know if it was alright to just pat her back.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded, and looked at him, aware that his arm was lingering around her back, although he seemed not to be.

"Not sure what happened there," she said, attempting to laugh it off, and failing when her voice transformed into a cough. He patted her back again.

"It happens. Well, occasionally anyway. Well, perhaps not many people can say they choke on nothing. Well, most people, but there probably is a steady percentage that this sort of thing happens to on a regular..." He trailed off when he saw the look on her face. He seemed in that moment to notice his close proximity to her, and backed away with something between a jump and a hop. His hand automatically went to his hair, a nervous habit that she wanted to strangle him for.

Deciding that the last few minutes had been enough excitement for the two of them, Rose turned and began to walk, glad when he fell into silent step beside her. When they reached the car, and she didn't know what to do. The conversation seemed to be over, his apology being the driving force for this impromptu walk. Yet the air around her seemed heavy, and her head ached with possibilities. There was more that could be in every step they took together, but she had no idea how to access it. So, before she could lose the feeling, she turned to him, her hair whipping in front of her face as she blocked the car door. It acted like blinds of blond, a layer of protection against his potential to hurt her again.

"I know you lied yesterday. We weren't nothing. You wouldn't apologise over nothing, wouldn't be here over nothing, and certainly wouldn't be able to hurt me for nothing."

Her voice and mind seemed to be running away together and leaving her body behind, so she let them. "I'm going to remember. It's already happening, and when I do, I'll have the memory of you saying that to me when I asked." She swallowed, swiping at her shield of hair and allowing him to take a shot, and to see clearly what she'd been aiming at.

He was just as before, stoic and solid. He looked too real, but so at the same time, he wasn't there at all. She almost thought that if she reached out and touched him, he'd fade through her fingers and melt into the horizon as if he'd never been there.

"Okay," she whispered, moving past him and practically running back to the house. She couldn't help but think she'd just crossed a line that her past self would never have dared, actively attempting not only to get a reaction from this man, but to hurt him, just as he'd done to her. And this new self liked it.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you so much for all your reviews and comments. I'm sorry I didn't reply this time, work has been insane (hence this chapter being late). I will do my best to reply to you all this time! **

**Latessitrice is my fantastic beta, and you should all go and read her Who one shots. They are marvellous. **

**Lamia is my amazing pre-reader, and while she doesn't write, she's still marvellous. And French  
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**Hope you all enjoy! **

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

In her dream, she was with a man. She didn't often dream of people, especially people she didn't recognise. The last dreams she could remember consisted of being chased by robots and chatting with trees, so this was exceptionally strange. He was tall, with dark hair cropped close to his head, and something about him that made her want to run, both far away and as close as she could. He was older than her, in his eyes and his body, full of anger and a something that made her afraid, creating the need to run. But she knew, even though she could see that anger, that it wasn't really part of him. It was a reaction, a defence and a cross to bear, self-imposed and not what he deserved. She needed him to see this, to understand this, and that was what made her draw nearer. It was only a dream, but this she knew, and it was as true as anything else she claimed to know. He smiled, and she smiled, and it was a time when everything made sense and she knew who she was. But then he let go of her hand, and vanished into the sunlight, and she woke up alone.

#~#~#

The kitchen was chaos. Rose skirted around her brother, who was running around half-dressed while his nanny chased him out of the room. That was strange in itself - usually the staff didn't turn up until late morning, on Jackie's instance that the morning was for family only. Rose liked it that way too. She wasn't really sure what to do around the staff, so had spent the past few months staying out of their way. She wondered how she'd ever managed to get used to this lifestyle in the past.

She entered the kitchen, surveying the mess. Pete was nowhere to be seen, but evidence that he had been here, possibly for a long time, surrounded her. His laptop was on the table, along with three empty coffee mugs, and a plate of crumbs. Stacks of files and his mobile completed the look that screamed 'Torchwood Crisis.' Her mother was nowhere to be found, another strange occurrence. Rose shrugged it off though, her need for caffeine and sustenance trumping all else. Yet by the time she'd added milk to cereal and tea, the temptation of the abandoned files sitting at her kitchen table was a little too much to bear.

Taking up Pete's empty seat, she turned her attention to the nearest file. She wasn't exactly sure what Torchwood was, except one of the main employers in London, and seemed to have a lot of highly sensitive material. She skimmed the first file she picked up, but didn't understand a word of it. Feeling decidedly disappointed, she placed it back where it was and went back to her breakfast, picking up another file, just in case. She could understand this one a little better, or at least the surface of it. It was a report on hot spots of Rift activity, listing place names throughout the United Kingdom and ranking them on some sort of scale. She wondered if she should be worried there was one at 47 magnitude only a few miles from where she lived...

The sound of her mother's voice stopped her train of thought, and she quickly replaced the document on a rather thick folder that was labeled DC/09-15/RT and looked incredibly boring. She stood, taking her breakfast away, making sure she left no evidence of her snooping. The raised voices of her parents floated down the stairs.

"Are they sure it's really...there?" Jackie asked as Pete walked through the door into the kitchen. Pete smiled when he saw her, but automatically returned to his pile of work. Jackie followed soon after, her face softening when she saw her daughter, but her stance radiated tension.

"I really don't think you can make a mistake in this case. Don't worry, it's contained. I'll be back later," he said, kissing Jackie before turning back to his work, collecting everything he needed together.

"Contained? What does that mean?" Rose asked, wondering why that terminology was being used for an office building.

"It means everything is fine," he replied. Rose glared at his back as he turned and left and couldn't help but wonder exactly what he was hiding. She'd never really considered that anything about his work could be strange, but now that she thought about it...

"Where the hell is Tony? This day is a disaster already," Jackie moaned, breaking into her thoughts.

"I saw him run upstairs..." Rose began, and before she could say anything more, Jackie stormed out of the room and up the stairs, ready to take charge and make sure Tony actually made it to school, despite the disruption of the morning. Rose finished her breakfast and disappeared upstairs, thankful for the quiet.

#~#~#

Three hours later the house was empty, and Rose took a leaf out of her father's book, and moved her work and books to the kitchen table. She was just about to start stating the three major factors that caused the collapse of the short-lived Portuguese Empire when the phone rang. She answered, surprised to hear Doctor Richardson's voice.

"I was wondering if you'd be able to come in later," she explained, "I'd like to discuss a few new developments we've had in your case. It would be best if we could meet in person."

Rose agreed to come to her office, milling around the house and half-heartedly attempting to study in the remaining time. She had no idea what could be important enough for Doctor Richardson to want to see her today, especially so soon after her usual appointment. She couldn't help but assume something negative had occurred, or they'd missed something crucial on her tests. She debated calling someone, feeling a sudden wish to talk and have someone listen as she fretted and conjured impossible scenarios out of fear and lack of information. But there was no one. Her mother would just panic, and her father was at work, and she didn't want to disturb him. Plus, she knew he'd probably call Jackie, which was what she avoiding in the first place. Alicia and Charlotte didn't really know too much about her memory loss, and she wasn't inclined to start explaining everything. So that was everyone in her life.

She recalled friends she'd had in the past, people from school who she'd spent all her days with as a teenager. Even a boyfriend, Mickey, who she remembered being with before her memories fractured. But none of them appeared to be in her life now, and she had no idea how to contact them. Their numbers weren't listed in her phone, and it seemed that she had lost touch with them during her missing years. She was completely alone.

Knowing it would do her no good to dwell on this, she gathered her things and drove to the Torchwood building, the radio blasting away any attempt at dark thoughts. She was surprised that when she pulled into the car park for the medical centre to see that it was completely empty. While it was a private clinic, it shouldn't have been deserted. Climbing out of the car, Rose looked around, searching for anything that might give her a clue as to what was going on. It all seemed...normal, in one sense, except there wasn't a soul here. It didn't look as if anything had actually happened to make people leave, yet they obviously had. Rose stood by her car, wondering what exactly she should do. She checked her phone, just in case Doctor Richardson had tried to call her while she was en route, but there was nothing, no messages or missed calls. It was disturbing, and she found herself shivering despite the mild afternoon.

Rose hesitated, looking between her car and the clinic. It would be a sensible idea to leave. Something was obviously very wrong with this picture, and she should be trying to get help, and probably getting as far away as she could. Yet she wasn't moving. She couldn't bring herself to just get back into the car and leave again, something about the situation sparking both a curiosity and suspicion that she should be doing something other than running in the opposite direction.

With that thought in mind, she walked forward, occasionally peering round to see if there was any sign of what had occurred. By the time she walked into the building, she was convinced that whatever had happened, everyone had left in a hurry. There were discarded bags and coats littered around the waiting room, proving that at one time, there had been patients here. The computer screens at the reception area were still active, the television playing Copy Cats silently as if nothing were out of sorts. Rose ventured past the reception desk, and through the doorway that lead to the surgery rooms. As the door banged shut behind her she jumped, the eerie silence reflecting off the white walls making her skin prick. It was so quiet she could hear every movement of her body as if amplified by a hundred. She found herself almost tip-toeing as she walked, making her movements as slow and small as she could, despite her not knowing if there was any reason to do so.

The first two doors she reached were open. The usual desk, computer and bed were inside, but no living thing stirred. Once more, there was no sign of anything disturbing, just empty rooms and space, as if the people had just been lifted out of their lives without warning. Shivering at the thought, Rose continued walking with just the sound of her footsteps for company. There were two more rooms left in this part of the corridor, then a further door that lead to a different area of the clinic. To her right after the first room the corridor split off to the right, which she knew would lead to a dead end and four more rooms. She could see that the doors of the two rooms before her were closed, but that wasn't what demanded her immediate attention.

She stopped dead as she heard a faint sound coming from the right hand corridor. She held her breath and she tried to place it, attempting to hear it over the sound of her own pulse. Moving closer to the wall, she pressed her ear up against it, moving before she lost her nerve. It was... scratching. It sounded as if tiny little needles were being dragged and scraped across the wall, desperately and incessantly. Rose backed away, the noise chipping away at whatever foolhardy resolution had brought her here in the first place. In her haste, she tripped, staggering back and into the wall. The impact seemed to echo through the corridor, and instantly the scratching ceased. Rose's heart rate sped.

_It__'__s __coming.__ It__'__s __coming __for __me._

The thought ripped through her senses, and she was completely frozen against the wall. She knew she had to run. She had to do something, anything than just stand there waiting for it to come to her.

Then, she heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening. This time, she could have sworn her heart had stopped beating entirely. All she heard was static, white noise deafening her as the reality of what she'd stepped into crashed down on her. There was something scratching its way to her, and now a second unknown had appeared from inside one of the rooms. Feeling as if her head were on a string being pulled with an uneven movement, she turned to the left to face whatever had just appeared.

Only she saw Dr Smith standing a few feet in front of her, looking rather confused. They stared at each other silently, until his face split into what she could only describe as an brightening smile, his entire face transforming with the action.

"Hello!" he said brightly, his voice bouncing over the syllables, as if completely unaware of the situation they were in.

And, of course, that was when all hell broke loose.

With a crack and a roar, the wall in front of her smashed, plaster and white paint filling the air in an instant. Rose was pushed backward even further, her limbs tangling and digging into the wall behind her. Over the sound of the wall, the scratching persisted, louder and more erratic than before, even as the air was congealed in white.

"Up, up up!" yelled a voice suddenly, and exceptionally close to her ear, yet another sound that made her ears rattle. Despite her shock, she obeyed, allowing the hands tugging at her arms to pull her upwards. She still couldn't see, and gripped onto Dr Smith's hand as soon as it touched her, needing a lifeline in a sea of white. She could hear the scrabbling, combined with a new sickly squelching sound that made her recoil internally. As Dr Smith pulled them to the left, she was almost glad that she couldn't see what was making that sound.

She stumbled, tripping over rubble and her own feet as she ran with him, never letting go. The debris in the air was thinner as they approached the door, and she was just about able to make out his figure fiddling with the door handle as they approached. The scratching was following them, the discordant squelching sound punctuating each scrape. Then she was being pulled through the door, swung round and let go of as he turned his attention back to the door handle. She blinked, her eyes stinging in the unnatural light and filtered air. Away from the carnage, Rose found her voice again.

"What...what is happening!" she said, not even trying to hide the hysterical edge to her voice.

In response, Dr Smith whirled around, grabbed her hand and took off down the corridor, dragging her not unwillingly with him.

"Now's the time for running, Rose Tyler, explaining can come later!"

And they were off, sprinting hand in hand through the clinic, twisting and turning through the corridors side by side. It was terrifying, the fact that she was running away with someone she barely knew, from what she could only assume was a creature - although why her mind jumped to that assumption based on sounds alone she didn't know - in the middle of an abandoned clinic. Yet it was amazing. Exhilarating, wonderful, and another emotion that she could describe that had her smiling widely as they ran, her hair flying everywhere, her heart pounding in her ears. On impulse, she turned to him, and she saw what she imagined was herself in him. Wide, childish grin, wild hair and manic energy radiated off Dr Smith as they crashed through the emergency exit and into the back of the clinic, their hands dropping only as they reached the outside world.

She turned to him, as she managed to slow just to see him once again fiddling with the door once more.

"Typical," she muttered to herself, and with a crack of realisation through her skull she understood exactly what she'd been feeling a moment ago. Contentment, as if this was an everyday, natural occurrence to be running with this man. She hadn't felt natural in anything in so long, she was too used to playing the role of a person she didn't know. She'd slipped into this without realising, and it was so familiar that she hadn't even considered what was happening to her until now.

"Aha! Done! That should hold it, well, for as long as it takes them to..."

"We've done this before."

She stared at him, truly afraid for the first time today. Everything was closing in on her, the connections and memories that both clashed and clicked so fast that she couldn't keep up. He was looking at her as if she'd grown a third head in the last two minutes.

"Rose, I can assure you that we've never done this before."

"Maybe not," she began, her hands shaking as she spoke. "Maybe not exactly this, but this type of situation is familiar. The danger, the running together...it's more familiar than my own family and I don't understand _why._"

The last part came out as a frustrated cry, halfway between a scream and a sob. She clenched her fists together and stared at him, stared him down until he looked at his feet in subordination.

"What is it about you?" she whispered, his head snapping up as she spoke. She walked forward just two steps, closer but not close enough.

"All roads lead back to you. It's always you, everything is about you. Who are you? What are you?" The last part escaped as a throw away comment, whisked away on the wind and causing his face to pale and twist.

He opened his mouth, maybe to speak, maybe just as an action, but either way she would never know. All at once they were surrounded, swarms of black clad agents, came between them pulling at her arm, dragging her from the scene as they ushered him forward. She lost him as they took her away, a tall blond man smiling and telling her he worked for her father, that she was safe now. Her mind slowed, and she felt as if she were underwater, wading through the air to a car that was parked just out of reach. The agent, whoever he was, told her to take care, a nice gesture that she appreciated in the chaos.

As the car pulled away,she saw Dr Smith by the door once again, with the agents that worked for her father as if he belonged with them. She turned her head away from the window, a sense of determination breaking the surface and pulling her out of her temporary dislocation. Her father. She needed to talk to her father.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews and support. I really appreciate them. I hope you all enjoy the chapter! **

**Thank you to Latessitrice for her beta work, and Lamia for pre-reading. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

Jackie was furious. Rose wasn't surprised in a way, considering that the Torchwood clinic was almost destroyed while she was inside. What she was surprised about was why Jackie was so angry at _her_. It wasn't her fault; the evacuation had happened so quickly that there hadn't been time for Doctor Richardson to call her and cancel. True, Rose probably shouldn't have walked into the clinic when no one was around, but there was no indication that it was potentially dangerous. Why exactly it was so dangerous was still beyond her, as no one had actually explained what was in there.

"Mum, I said I was sorry for going in there, what more do you want?" Rose said at breakfast three days later, when the elephant in the room was too large to ignore.

"Why the hell did you even go in there?" Jackie hissed in return, mindful of Tony who was watching cartoons. There was no way her brother could have heard from such a distance, but Jackie seemed to be taking every precaution. "Didn't seem to notice there was no one there, didn't think of calling for help or taking the safe option? Nope, you had to jump right into the middle of it, running around as if you knew what you were getting into. Typical. For the love of god, I hope you don't teach your brother that nasty habit. It's bad enough having one child determined to run head first into danger."

Rose stared after mother as Jackie stormed out of the room, her voice breaking on the last sentence, filled with a volume of pain that pierced Rose through and through. She felt her anger at her mother's over protective nature fade as her tone echoed through the now empty room. She didn't understand exactly why her mother was so hurt and afraid by what she'd done. But the fact that it was apparently a habit of hers meant that even without her memory, she was still able to be a danger magnet. She couldn't even remember ever doing anything dangerous in her life. She wondered for a moment what she could have put her mother through. To have her speak in that way meant that she must have done something, maybe many times, that caused her to worry so much. Rose found herself feeling guilty for decisions she couldn't remember, but somehow knew she was responsible for. Her actions three days ago had proved that.

With Jackie gone and Tony occupied, it was as good a time as any to attempt to corner Pete. Since the incident at the clinic, he'd barely been at home, sorting out whatever had occurred. The few times that she'd seen him, Rose had attempted to coax and once even demand an explanation for what she'd seen. So far, she'd been completely unsuccessful. However, she knew she had to keep trying if she was going to get anywhere.

Walking to his office, the door was shut firmly, but she couldn't hear anything from the other side that indicated she'd be disturbing something extremely important. She knew that if she was wrong, he would simply tell her he was too busy. But she at least hoped this time she'd be able to get some answers. So she knocked, the sound of her knuckles hitting the wood seeming bolder than she felt.

"Come in."

She smiled as she walked in, Pete returning it as he glanced up from his computer.

"Everything okay?" he asked, typing as he spoke, his attention drifting between her and whatever he was currently busy with.

"Err...yeah. Mostly. Do you have a moment?"

Pete stopped typing and held her stare for moment, before turning back to the screen. He sighed, and Rose shifted between her feet, feeling awkward just standing in the threshold.

"Give me a moment to finish this. Sit down."

Feeling as if she'd won some sort of victory just by being allowed a moment of his time, Rose stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Sitting down, she waited, wondering exactly how she should start this conversation. In the end, she didn't have to.

"I'm guessing you want to know exactly what happened at the clinic?"

Pete snapped his laptop shut and leaned back in his chair. He didn't look annoyed by the idea, or surprised that she would ask. Rose took this as a good sign.

"Among other things. But it's a good place to start. The place pretty much exploded while I was inside and I heard..." She stopped, Pete tilting his head to one side and a small smile forming as he waited for her to continue.

"You heard?" he prompted, and Rose looked away. She was going to mention the strange noises she'd heard prior to the wall collapsing and having to run for her life. But she couldn't logically explain what she'd heard.

"Just...what actually happened?" Rose finished.

"I can't tell you."

Rose opened her mouth to say something, but Pete held up his hand in protest.

"It's more than my job's worth to explain it all to you. Eventually, you'll find out for yourself. At least, I hope you will." Then, he picked up one of the many files on his desk, and opened it. She recognised the film and bright images as scans, many of which she remembered having done on the various trips to the now non-existent clinic.

"I have what Doctor Richardson wanted to discuss with you yesterday, seeing as we're not sure when the clinic will be up and running again. It seems as if the results of your tests have changed. Anything you want to explain?" he asked, smiling but not allowing Rose to see if this news was negative.

"I'm not...sure. I can't really say if I'm remembering things, at least not anything concrete. I have...feelings, I guess, and flashes of what I think I knew. I have no point of reference though, so for all I know, I could be right on track," she said, lifting an eyebrow in question, causing Pete to chuckle.

"Nice try. Remember you're meant to be doing this by yourself," he warned, leaving Rose feeling like a scolded child, not something she appreciated or felt she needed at this moment. Pete was meant to help her, not act as if she were Tony's age and had just tried to eat ice cream before dinner. The intensity of how much she disliked this feeling shocked her, but instead of thinking about it too deeply, she pushed it into an attacking stance, and directly confronted him.

"I don't really understand what Torchwood is, or what you do, but you seem to have something to do with...everything. As does Doctor Smith, he seems to be at the root of this, and he was there at the clinic, but apparently I'm wrong about having some sort of connection with him," she said, watching Pete's face carefully for a reaction, unsurprised when Pete gave nothing away. "I'm also confused about you."

This time, Pete did react. "Me?" he asked, with a hint of surprise, but more curiosity clouding his voice.

"Yeah. Somethings just don't add up. Mum told me you were dead when I was little, and I know you told me why she said that, but it still doesn't make sense. She had a whole story of how you died, and even though I was a kid, I remember how devastated she was. Mum doesn't lie to me, not in that way, not making up huge stories to explain things away. But you're not dead, you're here. So obviously I'm missing something important here."

Pete didn't say anything for a moment, as Rose sat there feeling exhausted from expelling her previous concerns. In the silence, she wondered if she'd done the right thing. She'd gone in guns blazing, accusing her father on a hunch just in reaction to a statement she'd disliked. It certainly wasn't her finest hour.

"Looks like the tests were right. I have my doubts about some of these advanced medical procedures, but this has proved me wrong," he replied, grinning,and leaned back in his chair.

"I had a whole list of stories to tell you. Ways to explain what can't really be explained away. You're right when you say your mum doesn't lie, she wouldn't let me say anything. Adultery, government job, amnesia, I had them all. Instead we told you as little as possible, hoping you'd piece it all together."

Rose felt herself grow numb as he spoke. The memories and the flashes had never been confirmed before, and although Pete hadn't said she was correct outright, the underlying message was clear. And also, so was the strangeness of the situation. If her memories were correct, then she was talking to a man who had died more than twenty years ago. She swallowed, her throat convulsing mechanically, but her mouth still dry.

"You...died?" She posed it as a question, almost begging him to say something contrary, to banish the impossible and make the monsters go away.

"Did I?" Pete asked, the question so simple in any other context but this.

"Yes." The word was whispered but sure. Pete just sat there watching her, as if waiting for her to break down, to scream or even have an epiphany.

None of this happened. Rose swept her tongue around the roof of her mouth, trying to form the next set of words she needed.

"But you're alive."

"That I can confirm," Pete replied, his smile easy but cautious. Rose knew he wasn't sure how she was going to react to these muddled facts, but she honestly had no idea either.

"It doesn't make any sense," she said, voicing the obvious but finding it oddly comforting to do so.

"It will though, in time. I'm sure it will," Pete answered, reaching across and taking her hand, squeezing it once and smiling at her, encouragement and a hint of pride that she wasn't sure she'd earned. Even so, the comfort of the gesture was enough to keep her holding on. For now.

#~#~#

There was little she could do with the small amount of information she'd gained from Pete. In all honesty, she found it better not to think too deeply about it. That caused a sense of sickness and panic to rise somewhere near the back of her throat, and she was trying to remain calm. What she had learned was that not only was she on the right track when it came to her father, but that her instincts were right about her memories. Which meant that she was, as she'd suspected, on track when she'd said that everything seemed to come back to Doctor Smith. Unfortunately, he wasn't as forthcoming as Pete, so she knew that was a lost cause.

Rose flopped down onto her bed, staring at the pale and bare ceiling. She wondered why this room was so bare. Surely she should have brought some of her things over from her old apartment by now? With that thought she sat up abruptly, her head spinning with the sudden movement and new idea. Her flat. If there was anywhere she could be able to find out something about her former life, it would be there. Cursing herself for not thinking of it before, she sped down the stairs in order to locate either Pete of Jackie, whoever she came across first. Pete was still locked in his study, so she cornered her mum in the kitchen.

"What's the address of my flat?"

Jackie looked as if she were about to spit out her tea.

"What you want that for?"

Rose shrugged, trying to sound as if it were more of a curiosity than an essential need. Bracing herself for an argument, Rose started to list reasons in her mind as to why she needed that address now. Jackie looked at her for a moment, then sighed.

"It's in my book - go in my handbag, it should be somewhere in the bottom."

Not quite believing her luck, but not going to stand in the kitchen just in case Jackie suddenly changed her mind, Rose launched out of the room and up the stairs in search of her mother's address book, hoping that this idea would pay off.

#~#~#

Her flat was a mess. Yes, she knew that her parents had come in once since the accident, and left it alone afterward, so it wasn't exactly in pristine condition. She also knew she wasn't the neatest of people, but the chaos that greeted her didn't really feel like her chaos. For one thing, it was a set of the most random artifacts she'd ever come across. Four huge rolls of crepe paper were next to a small coffee table: one blue, one lilac, one red and one white. There was a sewing kit and three old mugs on said coffee table, and she wasn't sure if it was safe to go near them. There were bits of machinery scattered on the kitchen counter, along with a dead mobile phone.

Despite the random objects cluttered and thrown around, Rose got the distinct impression that she hadn't lived in the flat long. There were no personal touches, no photographs and minimal decoration. As Rose walked through the flat, nothing changed. A bathroom with one blue toothbrush in a cup, a half used bottle of shower gel and one roll of toilet paper. A hallway with a map of Europe covered in pins stuck to the wall, some pins yellow, some red, and a lot of blue. She frowned at the map, wondering if it was really a good idea to do that, sticking pins in the wall and-

"_Now__ I__'__ll__ never__ get__ my __deposit __back!__" _

She stopped, clutching the wall as her own voice echoed through her mind. A memory. She'd said that, said that to someone before. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, willing the voice, the day to come back. Who had she been talking to? Had they been the one to do this?

She gave up when her head began to hurt. It was no good, she couldn't bring back that moment. Straightening, she turned and looked at the poster. It didn't mean anything to her; she didn't really understand why it was one of the only human touches to the flat. It had obviously meant something at one point, but it was buried with everything else. With one last look, she continued on her way through the flat.

Her room was as empty as the one at her parent's house. She only knew it was hers due to the duvet on the double bed, which was similar to the ones Jackie had. Sighing, she left the room, closing the door and returning it to stasis. She walked over to the last door, expecting to find an office, or even a large cupboard.

So she was very surprised when it opened up into another bedroom. It was the same generic decorating, yet this room contained similar clutter to the rest of the flat. A cardboard box filled to the brim with books sat next to the bed, and more were littered over the floor. There were a few sharing size packets of sweets lying around, and more machinery. Rose stood in the doorway, a sudden understanding hitting her. This was _not_her room. It was someone else's. With a gasp she stepped out of the threshold, as if something were about to jump out at her from within. It was all adding up. There was a toothbrush in the bathroom even though hers was at home. A separate room lived in but not by her. A memory of her shouting at someone for sticking pins into the wall.

"I lived with someone," she whispered into the silence.

As if to suddenly confirm this, the unmistakable sound of a key being turned greeted her, and the door to the flat opened.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the support and reviews for the last chapter. I really appreciate it, and I'm so glad that you're all still enjoying it. **

**My wonderful beta is Latessitrice, and my lovely pre-reader is Lamia. Huge thanks to them for all they do for me. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

"It's only us, thought you might need a hand finding your way around," Jackie announced walking through the door without any pretence, while Rose's heart hammered uncomfortably inside her chest.

"What?" she said dumbly, her pulse slowing and annoyance creeping through. She'd thought this mysterious person would walk through her door, and instantly her world would right itself again. For one fleeting minute she'd thought someone had come to rescue her, fly in and save her from all that was wrong and mundane. But she was naive to even think that sort of thing happened, let alone believe it would happen now.

"I thought about it after you left, decided we should come and help. Rose, stop gawking at me, I brought boxes in case you wanted to take anything," she said, waving her hand dismissively at the relatively empty space.

"That's not why...hang on, _we_?" she questioned, only just twigging that her mother wasn't alone.

As if hearing her, Dr Smith took the opportunity to waltz into the room, carrying a set of large boxes. Rose stared in both shock and aggravation as he put them on the floor and straightened up, smiling too widely and too perfectly for her liking.

A thousand rebukes and jarring comments flooded her mind, but she didn't have the energy to speak. Instead she just turned around and walked back through the flat, into a bedroom and shut the door firmly. She sighed and leaned again the door, closing her eyes. It seemed that everywhere she went, someone followed her. They wanted her to remember, they kept convincing her that she needed to. But at the same time she couldn't help but feel that there was something locked in her memory that they didn't want her to recall.

It would be simpler, wouldn't it, just to erase years of a life? Of course, you could forget so many wonderful, brilliant events and instances, but so much you wished had never taken place could go too. All those moments you wished the floor would swallow you whole, little incidents that you would do over if you could. The big things that changed your life, and the small events that somehow stuck to you for weeks. All vanished in an instant. But that wasn't what she wanted, not really. She needed her memories, needed to understand the person that she had been, to be the person she was. Despite the fact that it would be painful, she needed that time back.

She opened her eyes to see that she'd ventured into the other person's room. She frowned, wondering if that meant something, but decided she was almost certainly reading too much into it. Seeing as her mum and Dr Smith were probably doing something to the remainder of her possessions, she decided to take a closer look.

She wouldn't exactly say this room was lived in. The bed was perfectly made and didn't look as if anyone had slept here for a while. It looked more like a hotel room crossed with a storage space, or possibly even a study. Somewhere to go once in a while if necessary. Wandering forward, she picked up the first piece of machinery she came to. It was small and looked like the bones of a robot, all the insides laid bare. She had no idea what it was meant to be. It looked almost like a finger, and she put it down quickly before her imagination got too carried away.

She ignored the half-open packets of sweets and went straight for the books. Deciding they would tell her more than anything else in the room, she picked the first volume up...and immediately realised she was wrong in her assumption. It was written in another language, one she'd never seen before. She flicked through the pages, hoping that something would spring to mind but the language was like nothing she'd ever seen before. She assumed it must be similar to Arabic, all symbols and lines that didn't make sense to her eyes. Placing that book down, she rifled through the rest of the stack. She picked out four other books in languages she'd never seen before, one in the same symbols as the first book. There was another in French, one in German and something that looked like a Scandinavian language. There were only two in English, and both were on subjects she had little understanding of.

"The molecular destruction of the transdimensional being," she muttered, staring at a hefty volume.

"It's about as dull as it looks."

Rose almost dropped the book as she turned on her heels, the world spinning out of control as she righted. John Smith stood in leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets as he grinned at her.

"You've read it?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't sound as startled as she felt. He pushed himself off by his shoulder and took two steps into the room.

"Well, it is my book," he answered lightly, not looking at her as she spoke. Rose really did drop the book this time, narrowly missing her foot as she did. She gulped for air, feeling her eyes mist and darken with static as everything became a haze of headache and impossibilities.

She felt herself move downwards as she was guided, whether on her own accord or not, to the bed. She sat there for a moment, seemingly holding on for dear life until her head became stationary and her eyes began to clear. She realised she was gripping John Smith's suit jacket with both hands, really holding onto something rather than imagining it. He was kneeling in front of her while she sat on the bed. He stared at her, a look of absolute panic on his face.

"Are you alright?" she asked him, unnerved by just how scared he was. He blinked, the fear dissipating but somehow still staying fixed on his face.

"Isn't that my question? You almost fainted, I'm meant to ask that. Or did I nearly faint? I'm not sure who exactly was fainting or not quite fainting, but I think that's what happened."

Rose snorted, unable to stop herself as she did. Not thinking, she leaned forward, and dropped into him, her head hitting his chest at the same moment her knees his the floor and her arms circled his torso. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but after no more than a few seconds, he wrapped his arms around her too, and he was just holding her. Holding her close and safe and just there in the moment, away from the wind, and the cold in the air and that wasn't right and was just too bitter to handle in this moment, and if she let go then she'd shatter, and she couldn't cry now, not now, not after...

She pulled back and let go with a gasp. She gulped and pushed down...whatever that was, deciding she'd sort through that later. She pulled herself up awkwardly and sat back on the bed, not really sure if she should acknowledge the hug or not.

"So...any reason why your books are in my flat?"

He flopped backward onto the floor, his long legs looking out of place as he tried to sit comfortably on the carpet.

"Any reason why you're looking at my books?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Why are they here?" she asked, not bothering to respond to his diversion.

"Occam's razor!" he cried, sitting up straight and beaming. Rose jumped. "The simplest explanation is usually correct. So, a collection of my books in a room in your house would lead to the conclusion that..." he prompted, gesturing in her direction.

Rose glared at him, feeling as if she were being treated like a child. She opened her mouth to reply with something scathing, when she actually registered what he was saying. The simplest explanation.

"You...this is your room..."

The humour left his expression as she voiced her thoughts. He seemed guarded, almost as if he was waiting for her to break down. When he nodded slowly, she actually wondered why she hadn't yet.

"You...lived here. With me. In my flat."

"Our flat."

The correction was barely out of his mouth when Jackie burst into the room without knocking. Both Rose and Dr Smith jumped, so caught up in the moment that they'd forgotten she was here.

"Right, all tidied up, lord knows how long those cups had been there. Are you done? Did you need anything else?"

Rose stared at her mother for a heartbeat. "I didn't need anything in the first place, I came here by myself! For myself!" She exploded before she could stop herself. The huge amount of information that had just been dumped on her head was starting to make its mark, and she knew she wouldn't be able to keep herself in check for much longer.

Jackie huffed, her expression shifting just enough for Rose to realise through her haze that she'd managed to get to her. She felt exhausted, annoyed at her mother but knowing she was only doing her usual and trying to help. She was frustrated with herself that her flat appeared to have held more answers that she could have imagined, but her memory was only working in fits and starts.

"I'm not a child, mum," she said into the silence, looking away before she could see the reaction her word had caused.

Dr Smith stood, lifting his arms over his head and stretching as he did, making the awkward tension slightly with the movement. He lowered his arms and stretched his hand out towards Rose.

"Come on, let's go," he said softly.

Rose looked up, hesitating for second. Then she took his hand, and stood up letting him go first as she walked out of the room still in a daze. She only let go of his hand when she reached her car.

#~#~#

It was almost 2AM and Rose still couldn't sleep. The day was running through her head on a loop, and she was unable to break out of the cycle. After visiting her flat, she'd followed her mother home, arriving only a few minutes after. During that time, Dr Smith has already left, so she didn't have a chance to speak to him again.

He had a room in her flat. That small piece of information still caused bile to rise in her mouth, and the world to spin before her eyes. That combined with the picture really only lead her to draw one conclusion, one she wasn't ready to think of deeply. They could have just been friends. They had separate rooms, similarly decorated she had to admit, but still separate. Whatever their relationship had been, they were more than the 'nothing' he'd originally labelled them as. Why had he done that? It couldn't have just been to try and get her to remember then by herself, there had to be something more than that. And while she was thinking about it, where did he live now? Maybe he didn't live in her flat, maybe he just had a room that that he used occasionally. There was still the mystery of the ring he wore around his neck - who it had belonged to and why he wore it now.

Her head was beginning to hurt, and she had to get up in the morning. Willing her mind would quieten down for at least a few hours, she turned onto her side and closed her eyes, hoping sleep would come.

#~#~#

The man in the leather jacket was back. He was walking just ahead of her at a steady pace. She smiled and ran to catch up with him. Except no matter how fast she ran, he always stayed that short distance away from him. She tried calling out to him, but she couldn't remember his name, and when she shouted he didn't seem to hear. Eventually she gave up, and stopped, watching as he turned a corner and disappeared. She stared after him, just standing, waiting. She couldn't tell where she was, it was just a street somewhere. So she stood still and waited until it got dark. She didn't move, she barely breathed, and waited.

"Am I late?"

She turned around to see Dr Smith standing behind her, smiling and dressed in a smart suit as if ready to go to one of the many formal events her parents hosted. She turned fully to face him, her own smiling growing, and she felt as if something was shifting, as if the earth were moving faster beneath her feet, the world spinning and turning until all she could see was his smile in the night and the light that came from...

The window she was facing. Rose blinked, realising that she'd left the curtains open before falling asleep. She groaned as she noticed the numbers on the clock, mocking her with the knowledge she was awake an hour earlier than she needed to be. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. The man in the leather jacket seemed to appear far too often to be just a dream. Perhaps he was a memory? A person she'd once known that wasn't a part of her life, just like Mickey and Shareen. She sighed and sat up, deciding it was probably best to start her day. She needed to ask someone about these things, someone who, unlike her father and Dr Smith, would actually help her. She just needed to figure out where to start.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the support for this story! I really appreciate it. **

**Huge thank you to my beta Latessitrice for all her hard work (and for listening to me complain). Lamia is my amazing pre-reader, so a big thank you to her as well for all she does. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

The dreams were really starting to annoy her. Rose couldn't remember the last time she'd slept without dreaming. She had starting noting down the dreams and their occurrences, just to give herself something to do with them. However, after doing this for little over a week, she'd started to notice a pattern. Apart from the strange dreams about ghosts and robots that she'd decided were her imagination gone wild, they had distinct themes.

The first were the dreams that ended the same. They started out completely differently, crazy dreams in which she was a circus performer, and others that were replicas of a standard day. Yet they always ended with being buried alive. Rose had been so disturbed by this that she'd looked up the meaning of it on the internet. It actually helped to know that it was a pretty common dream. Unfortunately, it symbolised that she was about to make a great mistake, and considering the things she'd done in the last few weeks, that wasn't unlikely.

The other dream, was of the man in the dark jacket. She didn't really ever see his face, all she got were snatches, often his retreating form. If she did see his face, she forgot on waking, and she'd decided he had to be either an old friend or boyfriend. Some days she woke feeling one way, some days the other, but really neither fitted well. All she knew was he was important, and he was locked away in her lost years.

The final set of dreams starred Dr John Smith. Unlike the others, they were exceptionally specific, and she grudgingly had to admit were probably memories. Every detail was identical when they occurred, but the problem with these is they were only small segments of what she believed was a very important whole. In the first dream, he was dressed in a suit, standing under a light, as if waiting for her. When she saw him, no matter where this dream was set, he always smiled, his mouth lifting from one corner to the other. He'd always ask, "Am I late?" and that's where it would end.

It wasn't really the events of the dream that got to her, as nothing actually happened. It was more the feeling that she was left with for the rest of the day. She couldn't compare anything to that feeling. It followed her around, whispered to her, made it self known but wouldn't explain itself. Gnawing on her mind, pulsing in her fingertips, and creeping into her senses. It consumed her, became her shadow for hours, and she had no idea what to do with it.

In the other dream, she was sitting on a beach. It was cold, and either early morning or late night, possibly a combination of both. The sky was a shade of blue that wasn't quite morning, but not a time to be awake either. There was water everywhere. The sand was damp, the sea spray was in her hair, and tears blocked her nose and eyes. She could still feel it after she woke up. He was there with her, and that's all she was allowed to see. There was no feeling to accompany this, but she thought that might have been part of it.

These dreams were written down in a faded notebook, sitting on the edge of her bed. She didn't know if that would help, or make it worse. For now, it was enough just to know she did dream. At least that part of her mind was normal.

#~#~#

Despite the fact that Pete had already discussed her test results with her, Rose decided it might be best to see Dr Richardson anyway. She had agreed, pleasantly surprised that Rose was making an effort. Rose didn't divulge that she had her own agenda in this. Her family and Dr Smith were avoiding her questions after the apartment incident, so she thought someone who knew the situation, but wasn't involved would be her best bet.

Seeing as the clinic wasn't in a fit state to be used, Dr Richardson directed Rose to Torchwood itself, and from there she was escorted by a surly security guard down into what seemed to be a lab. It was very sterile in both smell and decor: white and glass, clean and fresh but steering slightly away from clinical. She could hear voices, even laughter from the host of closed white doors she passed. There were obviously many people working down here, and Rose had to wonder exactly what Torchwood needed a sterilised lab for.

She could see people moving through the frosted glass of the corridor, but none of the doors had name plates, or any sort of identification that allowed you to know what was inside. A few even crossed her path, walking along the corridors and through different rooms. All acknowledged her, smiling and wishing her a good morning, which Rose assumed was due to her father's status. They'd probably all met her before, so she smiled and nodded as they spoke. A woman who was probably only a few years younger than her almost stopped on her way past, opening her mouth to say something, then closed it and hurried past. Rose turned and looked as she went, wishing she knew who the woman was. The entire situation was odd, but wasn't as odd as it should have been. As soon as she stepped off the lift and into the long corridor, something started nagging at the back of her mind. It wasn't the usual pulse telling her that something was amiss. It was different, another feeling that she hadn't encountered. She wasn't sure what to make of it.

She wasn't allowed to contemplate the idea further though. Suddenly, the guard turned off to the right, and she was forced to follow. The unmarked door stood before her, and she glanced up at him. He blinked.

"Doctor Richardson's temporary office," he said, looking at her as if she had sprouted a second head.

"Right," she muttered, feeling embarrassed that she had been so caught up in her thoughts she had to be told. She walked forward and knocked on the door. The guard waited patiently behind her. She assumed it was to make sure she didn't suddenly turn around and start investigating the other rooms. She had to admit, she probably wouldn't have passed up the opportunity.

Within a few second, Dr Richardson opened the door, ushering Rose inside quickly, and nodding to the guard as she did. Rose was surprised at how normal the room looked. She supposed she was expecting something top secret and technologically advanced, but it was almost a replica of a standard doctor's office. A small part of her was disappointed, even though she had no reason to be. Not everything that she was involved in had to be as exciting as her last trip to the doctor's.

It turned out this was the correct assessment. While Dr Richardson did come up with a few other memory tasks and exercises she could do, and explained more of what her test meant, Rose couldn't make her budge on the origins of her memory loss.

"I actually know a college with a fantastic book on the subject, Rose. I'll just go and get it, I won't be a moment. It might help allay some of your worries."

Feeling dejected, Rose sat and stared aimlessly at the white walls while doctor Richardson went to get said book. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice the presence of another person in the room until the sound of a throat clearing broke through the silence.

Rose twisted round quickly, almost falling out of the chair in shock as she turned to see the woman from the hallway. She was tall, her large boots aiding her height, and dressed in a lab coat. She had long dark hair, the ringlets of which she twisted around her fingers as her eyes gazed around the room. She was nervous, possibly even afraid. Rose stood up and walked towards her slowly, recovering from her surprise.

The woman looked up as she approached. "I didn't mean to startle you, and I'm sorry that I've interrupted. But I had to speak to you, and I'm not sure if I'll get another chance before..." she stopped and swallowed deeply, her eyes darting to the door. She obviously wasn't meant to be in here, and she looked as if she might pass out from the panic.

"What's your name? I'm sorry if I know you, I can barely remember anything from the past six years."

The woman smiled sadly. "It's Michelle. I'm a research assistant here. We were...friends I suppose, or I'd like to think we were. And that's why I need to talk to you. It's about your memory loss."

Everything seemed to slow as the words reached Rose, and it took her a few seconds to wrap her mind around the situation.

"W-what do you mean?"

Michelle's eyes darted to the door again. "I don't have much time, but I need you to know that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Rose, I had no idea. I just need you to know that for when..." she trailed off, and then sidestepped towards the door.

"No, wait, you can't just say that and go!" Rose said, her voice rising hysterically as she spoke. Michelle just shook her head and continued moving.

"You'll remember, I know you will. And when you do, you'll understand. Again, I'm really, really sorry, Rose. Take care of yourself."

And with that she was gone, out of the door and taking the only clue to Rose's past with her.

#~#~#

Her flat was cold and a little musty, but it was the first place she could think of going to after meeting Michelle. She sat on her bed, wrapped up in a blanket she'd found at the top of the wardrobe, flicking through one of the books from Dr Smith's room. It seemed like the best thing to do to take her mind off it, except the book seemed to be about foliage and was both dull and confusing. It was enough to flick the pages and read a few sentences while her mind attempted to process what had happened.

Today she'd met someone who actually understood what had happened to her. Who_knew_, and had something to apologise for. That was really what was bothering her. She'd been in an accident. While she'd always had trouble believing that was the whole truth, she hadn't considered what the alternative could be. She certainly hadn't considered that she might not have played an active role in her memory loss.

Rose let the book drop into her hands and flopped back onto the bed. It wasn't that much of an assumption to think Michelle was else would she apologise? It wasn't the sort of apology that was given in sympathy for her condition, but one that meant she knew something. But what? Yet again, even though she'd opened the door to understanding, it blew shut as soon as she glanced inside. From all that she'd learnt, she knew only a few facts. Her accident didn't make sense, and everyone tried their best not to talk about it. Torchwood was somehow involved, and she was known well there. She'd had some sort of relationship with Dr Smith, one that he took pains to cover up and deny even though they were obviously close. How close she was still to discover, but it was obvious there was something going on there.

Steering herself away from thoughts of Dr Smith, she turned back to Torchwood. She had no real idea of what they did there. Her father owned the company, but she had no idea what they did, other than seem to occupy most of Pete's waking hours. Rose stared up at the ceiling. _Torchwood...Torchwood...Torchwood._

"Head of Defence and Relations."

The words slipped out of her mouth suddenly, echoing around the otherwise silent flat. Rose sat up, catching sight of her pale and shocked face in the mirror. Keeping her reflection before her, she stood and walked over, until just her face and hair were framed in the glass.

"Head of...Defence and Relations?" she asked, her mouth mulling over the unusual title. She waited to see if something clicked, if she suddenly transformed into something recognisable. She tilted her head to the side, almost as if she were waiting for the person in the mirror to give her the answer.

"Rose Tyler, Head of Defence and Relations," she announced to the mirror, flashing a grin and pretending she was introducing herself.

_He__ hadn__'__t __stopped__ laughing __since __she__'__d__ told__ him __her__ title.__ She__ wasn__'__t __exactly__ sure__ why__ he __was __still__ laughing __at__ her,__ and__ she__ almost __wished __she__ could __be __angry. __But__ she__ wasn__'__t. __Because__ the __more __hysterical __his__ laughter__ got,__ the__ more__ she__ couldn__'__t __help__ but__ smile. __Before__ she __knew__ it, __she__ was__ laughing __too,__ because __it __was __ridiculous,__ and __stupid,__ and__ impossible__ but__ it__ was __true.__ She was here__,__ and__ that__ was__ her__ job, __her __life, __and__ he __was __with __her. __So __she __laughed __until__ she __cried, __which __made __it__ easier __somehow._

The memory faded in an instant, and Rose found herself staring at her pale and shocked face in the mirror. The flashes were unpredictable and still made little sense, but they were becoming more frequent. She had a feeling she could name the man who had been laughing with her, even though her memory wasn't that specific. She sighed and turned away from the mirror, her fingers ghosting along the edge of the frame, the texture and patterns feeling foreign against her fingertips.

Her mind felt as if it were shutting down after the revelations of the day, so she idly began searching through drawers and the few belongings in her bedroom. There was hardly anything there - some old perfume bottles, and jewelery that she was shocked she'd worn at some point in time. It was either too bulky or too juvenile to go with anything she wore now. She moved over to the bedside table, and searched through the drawers. There wasn't anything in the bottom two, but the top contained a face-down book, a bottle of peach nail polish, and lip balm. She stared at the random items, wondering why they had been left behind. She picked up the book, it's brown, worn pages and basic cover told her it had to be at least secondhand. She glanced at the title, but _The__ Mystery __of __Edwin __Drood_ meant nothing to her, although memories of getting bored with _Oliver__ Twist_informed her she had read Dickens before. She'd been reading the novel because a piece of card stuck out slightly from just over halfway, marking her place.

Curiously, she opened the book at the page she'd stopped on. However, instead of focusing on the words of the time-stained page, she found herself focused on the makeshift bookmark. It wasn't a piece of card as she'd assumed, but a photograph. She stared at it, the novel slipping from her hands as she spoke.

And she remembered.

#~#~#

It was dark by the time she returned home. She parked next to the bright yellow convertible that she knew would be there, but wasn't quite able to open the door. After what she remembered tonight, a part of her didn't really want to face what she was going to do. It involved two awkward conversations that she didn't want to have, one with Dr Smith and one with her mother. She couldn't imagine that either would go well.

Eventually she forced herself out of the car, and trudged her way up the drive and to the front steps. By the time she reached the door, it had already been opened, and Jackie stood there against the light and warmth of the hallway, looking part-annoyed, part-worried. Rose sighed, knowing that her phone conversation earlier that afternoon had worried her mum. She'd been half-saturated in the small yet momentous discovery that she'd made, and in an instant had made a decision. She needed to move out. She needed to go back to her flat and try to start living her own life again. She still had barely any memories, and much of her life was shrouded in mystery. But she didn't need to treated like a child and wrapped in cotton wool. She needed to be an adult, and she needed her own flat.

She offered her mum a smile as she walked in, ignoring the inevitable twist of her stomach as she did. This wasn't going to be fun.

#~#~#

Rose wondered, as she sat outside with her back against the glass door of the conservatory, if she'd started smoking again during the years she couldn't remember. She could really do with a cigarette right now. She'd never seriously smoked, it was more of a rebellion thing when she was a teenager, and then became a drunken habit as she got older. She sighed and closed her eyes, the sting from the tears of the evening dulling as she did. She wasn't sure if Jackie really understood her reasons. She wasn't back to her old self, so in her mother's eyes she still wasn't well enough to live by herself. She tended to cry when her mother did, and Jackie had been exceptionally emotional, almost as if she were moving to another planet rather than to another part of London. But Rose needed her own space. So she'd cried, and she tried to explain and eventually her mum had calmed slightly. She was sure it would be fine in time, but for now, it was raw and painful.

She would have been happy to sit and stay as it got darker and colder, but the tell-tale sound of Converse hitting the ground reminded her that there was still another conversation to be had tonight. Her eyes remained closed as Dr Smith approached slowly, then sat down heavily beside her.

Rose inhaled the fresh air deeply once, then moved her head and opened her eyes. He wasn't looking at her, his back resting against the glass and his face turned to the sky. She mirrored his position, staring into the dark, trying to make out the constellations that were hidden from her eyes in the lights of the city. They were silent for a few minutes.

"I heard Jackie yelling."

Rose snorted. "I think everyone south of the river heard Jackie yelling." Dr Smith cracked a smile, and the moment was lighter for a while. It didn't last though, and Rose looked across at the garden, attempting to work out how to start this conversation.

"I'm moving out. Of here at least. Back to the flat."

Rose was hoping for a reaction to this, but she didn't get one. He barely even twitched, simply said, "Hence the yelling."

It was like pulling teeth, trying to get him to ask her questions so that she wouldn't have to come out and say everything. But it looked like she had no choice. Turning away from him and back toward the garden, she swallowed thickly, and then spoke.

"I remembered something today." Out of the corner of her eye she saw his head move in her direction, but she didn't move. "I'd been remembering it for a while, actually. I just didn't really understand what it was until today."

This was the awkward part. She finally turned and looked at him, mirroring his position with her head against the glass and turned to the side.

"You lied when you said we were nothing."

He shrugged, looking anywhere but her as he spoke. "Didn't you already tell me this?"

"Yeah, but I was going on a hunch then," she confessed, watching as he frowned, trying to work out if he should take the bait. Finally he sighed and turned and shook his head.

"And now you're not."

"No."

"Because?"

"Because I love you."

She expected the awkward silence. She expected her palms to start sweating despite the cold, her head to pound and her stomach to twist uncomfortably. She did not expect Dr Smith to laugh. Her hands began to shake as he knocked his head against the glass twice, still laughing, a bitter and harsh sound that seemed to echo inside her head. She watched numbly as he clambered to his feet, the laughter halting.

"You don't love me."

Rose stood too, her emotions flickering between angry, hurt and confused. She followed him as marched across the grass, the dew staining her shoes and seeping into her feet.

"How can you say that? How can you not remember?" she demanded as she walked, forcing him to stop and face her. She was surprised to see the same look on his face that he'd had all those weeks ago when she'd offered him the brown suit.

"Rose, you're the one who doesn't remember. I know exactly what you're remembering, what you're feeling. And I'm not the person of your memories, or the person you love."

Anger was starting to trump all other emotions as Rose listened to his cryptic words. She shook her head in frustration, her arms flying out to the side.

"That makes no sense! I only have two memories of you, and you don't even know what they are. Why are you assuming you understand this?"

He opened his mouth, ready to most likely once again argue against her, but he didn't get a chance. Now that Rose had started, she couldn't stop.

"I loved you. I say loved because I'm talking about before the accident, but it's still there. It makes complete sense to me now, and I can't believe that I even forgot something so...ingrained in my life. It's why you drive me completely insane but I'm still completely fascinated by you. It's why I avoid you but am disappointed when you're not there. It's why even though I have no memories of you, every single moment of my life comes right back to you. It's so obvious, I'm so stupid!" Rose threw her hands up in frustration, the movement allowing her to wipe her eyes as they fell back down.

"I'm..." she hesitated, forcing herself to catch his eye. This was so much harder than she thought, trying to make sense of something, and someone she barely understood. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I didn't remember sooner. I can't even imagine what it's been like for you...it took me so long, and I know there's still so much I don't remember about you and about us. But I remember when I first realised that I loved you," she said, and her mouth turned up at the corners without meaning to.

"When?" he asked, his voice carrying despite its low tone. She watched him as he stood, hunched in on himself, his hands in his pockets, looking as if she were about to tell him she were moving to the other side of the world. If it was really hurting him this much to hear her say something she'd expected him to be happy about, she almost wondered if she should tell him. But she'd already started, and for once he'd actually asked to hear something. So she did.

"It was at a party. I was standing out here. It was dark, and most people were inside. I don't know why I was there, what occasion it was. I just knew I didn't want to be there. And then, you came. I turned around and you were there," she said, turning and pointing to the door they'd both been sitting against. "You were just standing there in the light, and you asked me if you were late. You weren't just late, you were beyond late, I'd been so annoyed at you. Until you turned up, and said those words, and I just knew..."

She turned around back to face him, and jumped when she almost came face to face with him. She momentarily wondered how on earth he'd managed to walk to quickly and silently without her noticing, but that thought dropped from her mind when she noticed the intense look he was giving her.

"What was the other one?"

"What do you mean?"

"The other memory, Rose." He clutched his fists to his sides, his gaze not moving from her face. "You said you had two memories of me, what is the other one?"

It took her a few seconds to recover from the way he spoke. He sounded so desperate, as if everything were riding on this memory of hers. Perhaps he'd worried they weren't real before? She had to look away, the situation making her suddenly afraid.

"It's not as clear as the other one. I'm sitting on a beach, and it's either late or really early. It's cold, and I'm...upset, and you're there. I don't really..."

But she didn't get to finish the sentence. Before her mind could catch up with what was happening, she'd been pulled forward, and he was kissing her. It felt like heartbreak, and despair and love, and everything wonderfully painful in the world in one simple action. His hands were on her face, and hers had gone straight to his hair without conscious thought. She thought she could feel tears on his cheeks, but she was too overwhelmed by every sensation to really be sure.

When he pulled away, he lent his forehead against hers, his hands moving down until his arms were around her waist, and hers drifted grudgingly down to his back. He really did have great hair.

"You really do remember me," he said, his voice sounding as if he didn't actually believe it.

"You're the only thing I do remember," Rose answered, just about completing the sentence before she was kissed again.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and support for the last chapter. I really appreciate it. **

**Thank you to my wonderful beta, Latessitrice. She puts up with my promise of fluff that magically becomes angst. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

He had a habit of running his fingers down her spine when he walked past. Rose liked it, the ghost of a touch that she could just about feel, like a memory through the cotton of her top. She wasn't particularly reactive there, not in the way that he was. She'd returned the favour just once, and he'd yelped, back arching and dropping a box of books onto the floor. She'd laughed hysterically when he'd said it felt like an army of ants were on the way to taking over his brain. It was the deadly serious look that really caused her bout of hysterics, as if he actually had a fear of ants climbing up his spine towards his brain. Either way, she left the spine touching to him.

His hair was divine. She found excuses to touch it often, but in her defence, he seemed to enjoy having her hands in it. He almost liked to be petted, which she found strange in an endearing way. When he got soaked one evening after forgetting to bring an umbrella, he spent just under an hour in the bathroom trying to get it to go back to how it had been before. When his attempts failed, he spent the rest of the evening frowning each time he caught sight of his reflection. Which was often.

He didn't live in the flat or stay the night. Their relationship failed to progress beyond heated kissing and wandering hands. Which was all at once frustrating, confusing and understandable. There was probably some sort of issue about jumping into bed with a girlfriend who had amnesia, but she was finding it difficult to rationalise that when he kissed her like the world was ending and left within seven minutes. Yet at the same time, she didn't even know his birthday, favourite food or how long they'd been together.

Her mum had called her three times since she'd left the house for the last time. Rose was putting up with it only because the first two times had actually been necessary, seeing as her brother had managed to sneak into her box and be carted halfway across London. Then he'd left his lunch in said box, which meant Rose had travelled all the way to his school as Jackie didn't trust the school to actually provide him with a decent lunch. Rose had found this hilarious, considering that her brother went to the most prestigious private schools in Europe, but she had a feeling Jackie was recalling the slop they'd passed up as food when Rose was his age.

But now she'd politely asked her mum to leave her alone while she unpacked her things. Most of them were still in their original packaging. She didn't have too many belongings, but since she was moving out, or moving back home as was more accurate, she'd bought things. None of them matched anything, not the current decor or even each other. They were just things she'd liked and bought on impulse.

It was almost lunch time when he knocked on the door. She smiled that ridiculous smile that followed her everywhere since she'd remembered she loved Dr Smith. Granted, there were still a few strange aspects to their relationship, but that was to be expected. She barely remembered anything, and he'd had to watch her for months, knowing that he couldn't tell her what they were.

"I brought food! Chinese. Well, as close to Chinese as you'd get here, as they don't really call it Chinese here. Well, I say really, I mean at all. But it tastes exactly the same. Well, I say exactly, I mean relatively."

Rose laughed and took the bag from his hand, managing to somehow link their fingers for a few moments before they pulled away.

"Food is good," she announced, and he practically bounced on his heels before going to collect plates and cutlery.

"Why did you knock?" Rose asked when they'd settled at the small breakfast bar, pouring artificially coloured food onto their plates.

He frowned as he chewed. "What else would I do?" he asked once he'd finished his mouthful.

"You live here, right? Don't you have a key?"

His fork hesitated in a pile of sauce-soaked rice. Rose waited, her body tensing in anticipation of what would happen.

"I technically don't live here anymore. I did, and I still have my key. But I moved out. I live with J..a friend."

"Oh," Rose mumbled, stirring her food with her fork. She watched the colours and substances merge into slush as the silence stretched out between them.

"Rose."

She grudgingly looked at him, his no-nonsense tone of the voice drawing her in.

"You didn't know who I was, and you had no memory of this place. If our positions were reversed, would you stay by yourself in this flat?"

Rose shook her head, and then went back to her lunch, not really sure what to do or say now. It was an odd situation. She found herself hating the things she remembered more than what she didn't know. She could recall in horrific detail some vile memories of her first relationship with Jimmy Stone when she was sixteen, but nothing about a man she'd been living with. It was frustrating, and meant that she now found herself in an awkward position in her relationship with Dr Smith. She preferred referring to him as Dr Smith, or just as Doctor rather than John, another puzzling trait she couldn't explain. She'd moved back into their old flat, and confessed her love for him, and they'd fallen into a quasi-relationship without any sort of discussion. Occasional kisses, lunches, and dinners were all fine, and she understood why they'd kept each other at arms length. But would it be like this forever? Was he hoping she'd eventually remember more, and they could go back to how they once were? There was no guarantee she would remember anymore than she had done, and what then?

"I don't know," she answered, giving up pretending to eat and picking up her plate ready to clear up. She heard him sigh from behind her, and she knew she couldn't keep walking away from confrontation.

"I'm sorry," she began, turning once she'd put the plate into the sink. "I can't imagine how hard it's been for you, and I know I come off as insensitive sometimes. I just...I don't understand anything. I'm living someone else's life, and I can't remember what I'm meant to do as her. I can't be me, or who you remember as me because I only know who I was and I know I'm not her!"

Before she'd even blinked he'd crossed the room and hugged her, one of his signature crushing, suffocating hugs that she was sure she'd adored in the past.

"I know exactly how you feel," he murmured into her hair, his voice so sincere and heavy that she knew he really did. Yet she had no idea how he possibly could know what it was like to live the life of someone so like you, but not quite. Yet another piece to add to the never-ending mystery.

#~#~#

Rose wandered down her street, her steps lighter due to the unique feeling that only comes with a just-handed-in essay. There was one less item on her to do list, and one thing she didn't have to keep obsessing about. At least until the inevitable end of term essay, and the results of this essay...but for now, she was content to just buy into the moment. Celebration, seeing as it was Wednesday and she had to work in the morning, would consist of eating something tremendously bad for her. There was a fish and chip shop just five minutes away, and as it was so close to home, it seemed like the the perfect place to go.

It was the smell that started the feeling. She'd been in the shop long enough to collect the beige paper-wrapped package, mingled with salt and vinegar and deep-fried food, but it didn't start then. It was only when she walked home with the plastic bag clutched between her fingertips that the nagging feeling began to itch under her skin. She tried to ignore it as she made her way back to the flat, but by the time she was inside, she couldn't avoid it.

"What is it?" she muttered to herself, putting the food on a plate and trying to figure out why she felt so off. It was...painfully nostalgic without the memory, and she had no idea why fast food would be causing this.

She turned the TV on to some film she'd seen a thousand times in an attempt to block out the sensation, but of course it didn't work.  
><em>It would be nice just to have one evening where I didn't have to think about the gaping hole in my memories<em>. Eventually she gave up, and let her thoughts run.

She rarely ate fast food, or at least tried her best to avoid it. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had fish and chips. It wasn't something she usually considered, but in the wake of this strange nostalgia, she realised she'd not eaten them in her recent memories. Was there a reason for that? Had she avoided them unconsciously?

"Ridiculous," Rose muttered as her thoughts took a dangerous turn towards obsessiveness. She forced herself to concentrate on whatever was still on her screen. She watched someone get left at the altar, run off to Africa and somehow meet an ex-boyfriend on the way. It was at the point when the ex was treating the heroine to an exceptionally romantic date that a memory popped into Rose's mind. This time there was no trigger, no pain, no sudden flash. It fluttered through her mind, as if it had just been a misplaced past event, caught up suddenly in the rush of a less than usual feeling.

It was a conversation, or at least a tiny segment of one she had with Dr Smith. He was wearing that brown suit she'd seen in the picture, and they were standing in what she assumed was a field, the grass incredibly green and the wind incredibly strong.

"Our first date," the old Rose said, all smiles and memory and very blonde hair.

He grinned, a smile that was a shadow of the one she'd claimed as her own.

"We had chips," he'd replied.

Rose stopped paying attention to the television. She stared off towards the screen, no longer seeing the predictable ending of the film. That felt like a memory. She could smell the air, knew the way her pulse raced as he smiled...but she knew that something was wrong with it. Because she knew that on her first date with Dr Smith, she'd eaten pasta. It wasn't a memory, and try as she might, she couldn't bring it to the surface. Yet he'd mentioned it as an offhand comment, so she was certain that it was true.

So why did she have this memory?

#~#~#

Things had never quite added up. There were the dates of historic events that were either slightly wrong or didn't happen. There were places she thought she remembered that didn't exist, or streets that were different or wound in the wrong direction. She's always assumed that her memory had just been off, an obviously effect of the accident. But now, it appeared that it was more complicated than that. It was as if she had two sets of memories. Two dates for the French revolution, one father who died and one who was alive, and one boyfriend who took her chips and another for pasta. It still lead back to the accident, and she wondered why her mind seemed to have two different versions of events for some parts of her life, but not for others. Her mother, for instance, hadn't changed. She was still the same slightly mental woman who'd picked her up from school when she was five. So why only these specific events, places and people? What was so special about them?

There was another slightly more disturbing question that she couldn't help but ask herself. Which set of memories were real? The obvious answer would be what she was living now, but she couldn't help but wonder if that were true. There were certain facts that she was absolutely certain were true, yet she was constantly being told they weren't. Of course, this could all be in her head, but she felt that if this were the case, surely her doctors and family would be more concerned about her? She only went for check-ups, but surely someone creating a whole new set of memories needed more help?

Of course, she couldn't really know if this were true or not. And the part of her that wanted to know was also too afraid to ask Dr Richardson in case the truth turned out to be her greatest fears. So she was left with few alternatives. Either risk finding out she was more damaged than she already seemed, forget and see if she remembered naturally, or attempt to find out exactly what was going on another way.

Her third choice currently was her favourite, and there was one person who she believed might be able to help her. Michelle. She'd given Rose the closest thing to a hint of what happened out of everyone, but she had no idea how to contact her again. She couldn't find her number, and her old email account was locked away with a password she couldn't remember. The only other option was to ask Pete for her contact details. She assumed that if they were friends as she claimed, it wouldn't be too much to ask for her number? She debated it, the thought running through her head until she couldn't concentrate on anything else. Making her mind up, she picked up her mobile, and dialled.

"Pete Tyler."

"Hi Dad, it's Rose. I have a favour to ask."

#~#~#

The lie she'd come up with seemed to have worked. Instead of actually saying she'd met Michelle, she'd instead described her to Pete, claiming she'd remembered her. She felt exceptionally guilty when he'd seemed so pleased she'd made a breakthrough, and gave her Michelle's number. Rose sighed into her scarf as she walked towards the cafe, trying to focus on the present.

Michelle was waiting inside, already seated in the corner of the cafe. Rose found herself marching to join her, the determination in her steps compensating for the nervousness she was drowning in.

Michelle offered her a small smile as she sat, but stayed silent as Rose settled. Rose looked around the cafe idly as the silence stretched. Now she was here, she wasn't sure what to say or do. For all her bravado and planning, she hadn't actually thought she would get this far. Luckily, Michelle quickly put her out of her misery.

"I guessed it wouldn't take long for you to track me down. I shouldn't have said anything to you."

"Why did you?" Rose asked, jumping on her train of thought.

"I suppose I thought I wouldn't get another chance to speak to you." she said slowly, as if working it out as she spoke. The answer was simple enough, but Rose could detect something in there, as if the words themselves had more than one definition.

"Because I wouldn't remember?" she asked, jumping to the answer that seemed to summarise everything lately. Except Michelle's face twisted in a way that made the real answer obvious but impossible.

"Because I would remember," Rose said with certainty.

Michelle nodded. "You will, in time. That's the problem that I guess you've encountered. They didn't think it would take this long, but equally they can't do something in case you don't remember. It would be easier, that way wouldn't it?" she asked, turning to Rose.

Rose tried to stutter out a reply, but Michelle continued. "If you were never going to remember, something could have been done. Your parents could have tried to introduce you to your past slowly, or just simply tell you what happened. But they can't. You will remember, it's just a matter of how much and when. This has never happened before, and they need to..document it."

Rose frowned at the strange use of words. "What are you talking about?"

She grimaced. "How many times have you been to the doctor, Rose? Especially when you were first released. Do you really think that's necessary?"

Rose sat back in her seat, pin pricks of fear creeping through her spine and touching each nerve in turn. She'd just assumed that her mother's worries and fears had been the cause for her constant visits to Doctor Richardson. It had never crossed her mind that it could be something else.

"Why did I go so often?" she asked, her voice taking on an edge that seemed familiar but unused.

Michelle clammed up instantly, and Rose sighed as the boundary was overstepped. She slumped in her seat, wondering why she seemed doomed to take one step forward and another three back.

"Did we work together?" Rose asked suddenly, guessing something that she'd thought about before. While the strange job title she'd recalled still meant very little to her, she had tried to think of ways she could know Michelle. It was a long shot, but it seemed to be a pattern in her life. Her only friends at the moment were who she worked with - no one at her university, and apparently no one from her past. She couldn't imagine she worked for Torchwood, but there were so many years missing from her memory that it was possible she had Michelle had worked together in the time she was missing.

"We did. In different departments, but we crossed paths almost three years ago. I'm still in the lab, but you were more...well, being stuck in front of a computer isn't your thing."

"So I did work for Torchwood?" Rose said slowly, not really sure how she should process that piece of information. Michelle looked stricken for a moment, obviously unaware she'd given that away, so Rose quickly jumped in. "I was head of defence and relations?"

Michelle visibly relaxed and nodded. "I'm in research and development. Yes, it's usually as dull as it sounds."

Rose smiled, a quickly lived expression that lasted but a few seconds.

"And we were friends."

Michelle nodded. "Still are, I hope. Although when you remember..." She trailed off and looked out of the window.

Rose followed her gaze, and stared out at the characteristically grey London skyline. "I doubt that will change. I seem to be pretty limited in the friends department."

"You had your reasons for that."

Rose rolled her eyes. "I suppose that's true. I seem to have reasons for everything, but it doesn't feel as if I'll ever know that reason. Why I'm so isolated. Why my family are so overprotective. Why I have two sets of memories for most of the important aspects of my life, and can forget the person I love. Why I work in defence. What could Torchwood even need defending from?" she asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

During her tirade, Michelle had turned from the window towards her, regarding Rose carefully. She smiled as Rose finished, leaning back in her chair and picking up her cup.

"Aliens," she replied, then sipped her drink.

Rose glared at her, struggling between the need to laugh at the ridiculous answer, and cry at the inappropriate nature of the response. That was until a sudden quiet came over her mind, her stomach cramping in that unpleasant way that was so familiar and frustrating. _It's not meant to be like that_it said, all the while the same phrase echoed in her mind, this time intoned by a familar voice.

"Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N I know this has been a long wait, so thank you for sticking with me. Thank you to my lovely beta, Latessitrice. **

**Hope you all enjoy! **

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

"Why do you wear a ring around your neck?"

It wasn't the best greeting. In fact, it wasn't a greeting at all, but Rose had to know. After her conversation with Michelle that afternoon, she'd made a promise to herself: to understand. To understand exactly what was going on, sort out her memories and make sense of this confusion. She hadn't meant to start with the ring. He just happened to be playing with it when she answered the door.

His face morphed into a look of startled amazement.

"Can I come in or do you want me to answer on the doorstep?" he replied, his signature half-smile appearing. Rose hesitated, then moved aside, allowing him into her flat. She closed the door behind him, staying a short distance away as he entered the room and shrugged off his jacket, making himself perfectly comfortable. It was times like this she could tell that despite his insistence he lived somewhere else, she could see his real home was here.

The thought warmed her, but she pushed it aside quickly, forcing herself to stay on track. He dropped into a chair and stared up at her.

"You want to know about the ring."

"Yes," she replied, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.

"Any reason?" he asked, but lent forward so he could reach behind his neck and unclasp the chain.

"I was just...wondering," Rose finished as he pulled the chain free and held it out towards her. She stared it as if it might explode for a few seconds, before moving forward and taking it out of his hand.

She placed the ring on her palm, automatically knowing something was wrong. She blinked, confused and then lifted her head to meet his eyes.

"It's plastic?" she said, what was meant to be a statement escaping as a question. He smiled, a strange expression somewhere between amusement and sadness.

"Yes. Looks very real, doesn't it? I couldn't have made it better myself. Well, I probably could have if I ever wanted to make plastic rings that looked like metal. Which I don't."

This line of thought didn't help her, so she waited until he realised his digression. It didn't take him long to return to the topic.

"It's a running joke really. Your brother gave it to me. It was some sort of toy prize he was given from a very expensive cracker. Instead of turning his nose up like we thought he would, he told me to give it to you. Said I needed a ring to marry you, and I needed to marry you because I loved you. I'd blame the fairy tales, except I bought them for him, because every human child needs fairy tales..."

"So you wear it," she said, cutting him off before he could run away with his thoughts again.

"Yup. It was a present. So I wear it. It doesn't fit my finger, so it goes on a necklace. Now the real question is, why did you need to know about the ring."

He sat back on the chair, observing her quietly as Rose found the blood rushing to her head. Her assumptions flew to mind, and even now they seemed more rational than the actual explanation. That appeared to be a pattern in her life though. Neat, logical explanations like car crashes and wedding rings gave out to aliens and plastic toys.

"You thought it was a real ring. Your ring," he supplemented for her. While Rose was glad she didn't have to say it, even hearing it out loud still caused her to wince.

"We aren't married. Or engaged. It's not...us."

The sentence sounded odd, and Rose automatically found herself questioning it. Dr Smith seemed to sense this, for he immediately stood up and walked to the window, his hand pulling at his hair.

"We're just not like that. It doesn't mean I don't..." he stopped, visibly having to take a breath to steady himself. "That I don't care. It's just how we were."

Rose felt her patience start to leave her. She was so fed up with this, cryptic comments and double crossing thoughts. Why did it still take so much to get a simple answer from anyone?

"And how are we exactly? Because I'm really confused. It seems as if we're two different people, or at least you seem to be. So I'd really like you to explain it to me, because I all I seem to come up with are toys and aliens, which makes no sense at all. So what is it? Are we chips or are we pasta?" she demanded, her words tipping out of her with no warning.

Dr Smith, to his credit, didn't back away in horror. "I like both?" he answered like it was a perfectly normal question to ask.

Rose rolled her eyes, almost angry that he couldn't keep up with her train of thought. "Our first date. Which was it, chips or pasta?"

He paused, the hand returning to his hair, leaving more of a tousled perfection in its wake.  
>"The first time was chips. The second pasta. So it depends on how you look at it."<p>

"We had two first dates?" Rose asked, wondering where the logic was in this. Dr Smith sighed and returned to his seat, falling heavily into it.

"Yes, I suppose we did. I was...different back then though. It was me, but it wasn't me, not the me I am now, but the me I was before, which is still me, just not original me..."

"Please stop saying 'me'," Rose begged.

He nodded, looking contrite as if he'd only just realised what he'd been saying. Deciding it was probably best to say something before he started rambling again, Rose spoke.

"Michelle told me aliens are real."

She expected him to laugh. To make that adorably confused expression she was so familiar with, scrunching up his face and mocking the ridiculous statement. Except he didn't react in any way. He looked as if he were waiting for her to continue, that she should have added more to the statement.

In the silence that followed he shook his head. "What do you want me to do Rose?" He sounded tired, exhausted even.

"Tell me the truth. Tell me what's going on. I can't just flick a switch and remember, and things are getting too difficult. I think...I think there's something wrong with me." Her voice dissolved into the air, and Dr Smith looked up sharply.

"I must be ill." Rose continued, unaware of his movement. " I can't have memories this different. I know I'm meant to remember, but the more I remember, the less it makes sense. I hate it, I don't understand it, and I'm terrified."

Saying everything aloud helped, but only a little. She found her throat closing at the end of her sentence, the words barely escaping. Before she could really register what had happened, Dr Smith was out of the chair, across the room and standing before her. He gently took her head in his hands, framing her face so she was forced to look into his eyes.

"Rose Tyler, believe me when I tell you that there's nothing wrong with you. Nothing. I promise you. Okay?"

Rose found herself nodding at the commanding yet comforting tone of voice. In return, he gave her one of the wide, all encompassing smiles, and a kiss that almost made her forget why she was upset. Almost.

Within a few moments, the tension had returned, despite the fact that they kept one hand tied to each other, a lifeline in the middle of the confusion.

"I need to know. Please. Whatever happened, whatever is in the past, I need to know. I can't keep waiting until I trip over it one day."

He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply once before looking at her again. "It's a long story. Obviously, as it's years of your life. Well, there are gaps that I can't fill in for you.."

"Short version," Rose replied, this time smiling fondly at his tendency to ramble. Her grin faded as he continued to look uncomfortable rather than pleased.

"It's a strange story."

"I gathered that."

"You're going to have to believe what I say, even if it seems impossible."

"I trust you."

"Thank you! But I really do mean it, this is an almost unbelievable tale. I say almost as, well, it really happened."

"Can you please just tell me?" Rose groaned, not sure how many more reassurances she could give.

He nodded, finally giving into her request. He inhaled once and then told her everything. The summary of events ended up in two tangents, one about eighteenth century France that involved him looking flustered and moving onto a rant about alcohol, bananas and ice, followed by another about the dangers of dinner ladies. At the start of a tale about stone angels, she held up her hand to pause him.

"So, what you're saying is, me, mum and you are from a parallel universe, and you're the clone of a time travelling alien I knew?"

His face fell. "You would pick up on the clone part," he muttered.

"And an alien. An alien clone. In a parallel universe." A thought struck her. "That's why I kept thinking dad died. He must have died in my universe, but is alive here."

At this, he smiled. "Always a quick one, my Rose Tyler."

Rose smiled. "So, what happened with my memories? It obviously wasn't a car crash."

The lightness from the previous moment was gone in an instant. "The car crash wasn't a complete lie. It just wasn't the cause of the memory loss. It was minor, and the reason you did have a few injuries. The memory loss came a day later."

Rose went to ask a question, but it disappeared before she could, as Dr Smith, well apparently 'The Doctor' started speaking again.

"We'd argued, I can't remember why now, but I know it was something about him." The venom in his voice was startling, and it didn't take long for her to connect it to the original him. "Then you went off on a field mission a few miles away. I don't know what happened, but it ended in a car crash and a hospital visit. I barely saw you, and the only time I did, you told me you were too tired to talk about it. Less than two days later, you had no idea who I was, and no idea what had happened between us."

"That doesn't...that doesn't mean anything," Rose protested, not believing for a second that she would deliberately want to forget him. From all she could remember, all she'd already experienced told her than he would be the last person she would try and forget. But his voice was so full of pain and hurt, so convinced that somehow this all led back to him. A sudden flash of a car, a road side, and a never-ending dark that crumbled away under her fingertips appeared in front of her. She didn't have time to grab hold of it before he started speaking again.

"You wanted to forget Rose. You wouldn't talk to me, you wouldn't tell me what was wrong, and then I get a phone call telling me you'd forgotten everything. You'd forgotten me, us, everything we ever went through. You chose to do this, you made a decision."

He sagged down, his legs folding underneath him as he slid into the chair. He looked like a paper doll, all lines and bends, pretty and breakable. She could feel him being torn to pieces between her fingers.

"I want to help you Rose. I've always wanted to help you. I just don't think that I can. After all, I'm the person you wanted to forget."

Sensing that this conversation was over, Rose retreated from the front room and into her bedroom. She pulled out her phone, dialling a familiar number. Even as the person on the other ended picked up, she was resolute in her belief that it was not Dr Smith...no, her Doctor, that she had tried to forget.

#~#~#

The lab was quiet and eerie, the contrast between the yellow artificial lights and the darkness seeping in through the windows doing nothing to help it. Rose stared at the strange array of objects, research and work littered around. There were coloured liquids in a variety of containers stored in a cupboard along the wall. There were several anatomy posters across one of the benches, none of which looked quite right into her eyes. There were tools, silver and sterilised, lined up on the closest bench to the door. She avoided looking too closely at them. Her mind was already stretched to its limits, and she was trying to prevent it from tipping over the edge.

"Sorry I'm late."

Michelle's voice was closer than Rose could have anticipated, and she instinctively jumped away. Michelle's eyes widened.

"I didn't mean to startle you. Is everything okay?" she peered at Rose carefully, as if the insanity of this day was written all over her face.

"I'm fine," she lied, now so practiced at this phrase that it almost felt like truth. "What did you want to show me?"

Michelle hesitated, her gaze darting away from Rose. Rose found herself tensing, noticing the look of indecision on the other woman's face. It could end here. She knew Michelle felt guilty for whatever part she played in the memory loss, but Rose was so close to discovering what happened. From what she knew of Michelle from the past few weeks, she sincerely doubted that she was as responsible as she seemed to believe.

Michelle straightened suddenly, as she'd needed the time to mentally prepare herself. Then she offered Rose a nervous smile, turned on her heels and walked to the other side of the room. Rose followed, avoiding all the strange and unnerving equipment and research until they reached the cabinet at the back of the room, filled with coloured liquids. As Rose got closer, she noticed that they were all labeled like medication, although she recognised none of the names. There, bottles of tablets nestled with liquids, which helped to confirm her suspicions.

Michelle pulled a ring of keys from her lab coat, flicking to the correct one with practiced ease. She pushed it into the lock and turned, sliding the glass to the right as she did. She reached up, and pulled down an unimposing bottle of small white circular tablets. A small part of Rose felt let down. She'd assumed she would have reached for one of the fluorescent bottles, or containers with substances floating in them.

"These are amnesia pills," Michelle began, shaking the bottle for emphasis. "We try to use them sparingly, but they come in handy when civilians see something they shouldn't. The long-term effects are still somewhat of a mystery, they've only been used in the past ten years. They essentially wipe out twenty-four hours of memory. Fast acting and efficient, a Torchwood favourite."

Rose swallowed, staring at the unobtrusive looking tablets. They were tiny, smaller than paracetamol, yet somehow capable of erasing memory. She lifted her eyes back up to Michelle, connecting the dots as best she could.

"So...did I take too many? Or get a bad batch or something?"

Michelle shook her head. "You didn't take an amnesia pill. You took this." She turned and placed the bottle back in the cabinet, and brought a test tube of pale yellow liquid out with her.

"You took this. It's amnesia serum, our latest project. My latest project to be precise."

Michelle's face fell at the admittance, the tension returning to her stance. However this time, she continued her explanation without faltering.

"The problem with the amnesia pill is it erases everything. The whole day just disappears without a trace, when all we really need is for one specific incident, one memory to disappear. There have been incidents when the effects of the amnesia pill have been reversed because having a day vanish from your memory seems suspicious. So this was what we were working on. Trying to create something that would target the specific memory and leaving everything else intact."

Rose stared at the liquid. "Is it possible?"

"We had significant results...but to date, you're the only human subject to have taken it. So I would say it is possible, but it needs some refining."

Rose stared at Michelle. "Possible? I've lost years of my life, and you still think this magical creation works?" she snapped, her voice going higher and higher.

Michelle just looked at her sadly. "It did work, Rose. You wanted to erase one memory. Except for you, that one memory is linked to years worth of memory. The amnesia serum is meant for the general public, people who encounter something they shouldn't have seen. Not someone whose entire life revolves around it. The technology is too good. In order to really remove that incident, it had to take every fragment with it."

Rose blinked, feeling tears appear at the edge of her eyes, trying to stop them from falling.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice already growing thick.

Michelle looked as if she wanted to move towards her, but stayed put. "You came straight here after you were discharged from hospital. You told me you needed to forget something, just one incident of the day before. The serum worked, Rose. It erased that encounter with those creatures, and subsequently everything that lead you to that moment. You first met an alien when you were nineteen. It took you back to then."

"The Doctor," Rose murmured, the syllables barely being defined in breath. Michelle was still watching her closely, as if waiting for the inevitable breakdown.

"We didn't have any pills on that night. After the incident, we needed most of them, and all our supply had been either used in testing or removed for use. There was only the serum left. Untried, and untested."

Momentarily, Rose managed to block out her many questions, fears and directions her mind was pulling her in, and she zoned in on one. "I was aware of this project...what you were working on, right?"

Michelle nodded, looking taken aback at the direct question. Despite it all, Rose smiled. She walked towards her friend, and shook her head sadly.

"Knowing me, I would have taken the serum, even if someone had warned me, told me not to. Which is what happened, isn't it? I asked you, you said no, probably told me it hadn't been tested. Even without the years of my memory, I'm certain something like that wouldn't put me off."

Michelle shook her head, the distress she was feeling plain to see. "I know, but it's my fault. If you didn't know about it, if I had locked up more carefully..."

"I would still have found a way to get it," Rose said gently, knowing this was true. Michelle still looked unconvinced.

"You know me. You know I would have. And if I hadn't known anything about the serum, I would have probably done something else. Please stop blaming yourself. You have no reason to, and I don't blame you at all. I decided to this, I did this to myself. It's all on my head."

Rose was suddenly grasped tightly, as Michelle flung herself into Rose. Rose smiled sadly, hugging her friend in return. She'd been blaming herself for months, worrying that as soon as Rose regained her memories, she'd blame her.

"Sorry," Michelle muttered, pulling back and wiping her eyes. Rose smiled, then without warning, a question struck her.

"You always said I'd eventually remember. How could you be so sure?"

"Well, we aren't 100% certain, but the serum has the same basic formula as the pills. With the right trigger, you should regain your memories. Seeing as you'd already remembered parts, and worked out when the two sets clashed, it should only be a matter of time."

Rose's smile was bright and painful in return. She would remember. She was already remembering, filing in the gaps that Dr Smith hadn't told her...

"I need to go," Rose found herself saying as she backed away towards the door. The argument with Dr Smith...no, the Doctor, still resonated in her head, and now that everything had become slightly clearer, she needed to go back to him. She needed to tell him the truth.

"Thank you," she said, running and giving Michelle one last hug. "I'm sorry, I just need to sort things out."

Michelle nodded, smiling and seeming lighter than Rose could remember. "I understand. Go, sort things out."

Rose offered her a smile before sprinting out of the room, down the corridor and towards home.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has supported this story. It's my first Who fic, and I really enjoyed writing it. I have started a new story, and hopefully it will be posted soon. **

**Thank you to my lovely beta Latessitrice for her help and support all the way through. **

**I hope you enjoy the last chapter. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

She was almost expecting it to rain. That was how romantic reunions worked, wasn't it? Either that or the clichéd running towards each other, arms outstretched, perhaps in a field of flowers. Rose would even have taken heavy traffic, abandoning her car and running the rest of the way. She thought that it would have fitted the extraordinary twists her life had taken, even the memories she'd discovered. Memories like falling in love with the human clone of a man she could never have, living in a parallel world where her father was not only alive and well, but a millionaire. And of course, aliens. She could have at least had a romcom moment if there were going to be aliens in the picture.

Yet the weather continued to be mild, the traffic was steady and there was no one running towards her with their arms open. She would have been disappointed if she wasn't completely aware that this train of thought was purely a distraction from the fear of what she might find at home. She'd been right when she had been suspicious of the Doctor's belief that her memory loss had something to do with him. It was an unfortunate coincidence, a horrible, disastrous effect that she'd never have wished upon her worst enemy.

She could remember what she'd tried to forget now. Not as vividly as she once had, and her mind seemed to try and shy away from it. It was stupid of her to take the serum, but she could almost understand why. She had no idea what her emotional state was that night, and she knew she had a history of reacting before she thought too carefully about the situation. Sometimes that worked in her favour- running off with a strange man in blue box for an adventure was one of the best decisions she'd ever made. It was impulsive though, and probably not the safest decision. considering he'd blown up a building, and only given her the name 'Doctor.' It was that same streak she imagined that had lead her to taking the serum.

Rose pulled up to the house, taking extra care in her parking to give herself a few minutes. She took a moment to steady her nerves, then stepped out of the car, determined and ready. The flat was only half lit, telling her that the Doctor had probably shut himself in his room while keeping the rest of the rooms dark. She elected not to turn the light on until she got to the kitchen and stubbed her toe painfully on an unidentified object. It turned out to be half a frying pan. She didn't want to know where the other half was.

She walked out of the kitchen and into the gloom of the hallway, pausing outside of the intimidating closed door, the light filtering out rebelliously from beneath it. Rose swallowed, and giving herself a mental push forward, knocked on the door.

She heard something drop, and a muffled curse that made her smile. There was so much piled high in his room that it was a miracle he hadn't been buried in it by now. There was a jangle of metal and a flurry of papers before she heard his voice call.

"Rose?"

"Can I come in?" she asked, too keyed up to mess with pleasantries. Her question was met with silence, and she could feel the awkwardness descend even through the door.  
>"I'm busy at the moment. Can it wait?"<p>

"No."

She could feel him deliberate, almost moving from foot to foot as he thought about his options. Rose rested her head against the door, as close as she could get to him without his permission. She had a block in her memories, a vacuum in her past, and a door between herself and the Doctor. Of all these, the last should be the easiest to overcome, but right now it appeared to be the most difficult of all. She could feel the blood pounding her ears as her nerves skyrocketed, and once the door opened she stumbled, and almost fell into the Doctor.

She righted herself, and he looked startled and slightly wary, which she guessed she deserved after her stunning entrance.

"I need to talk to you."

His expression changed from wary to worried at her words. "What's happened?"

Rose hesitated, not really sure how to begin. "Can I come in?" she asked, which probably wasn't the best way to allay his concern, but standing awkwardly in the doorway was making her jumpy. He nodded slowly, still understandably wary of the entire situation. He moved, and Rose was granted access to the room, making her feel a little better, but still unsure of how to proceed.

The Doctor seemed to notice how agitated she was, and his expression softened. He gestured towards the bed, and after moving several heavy books, some metallic objects and a packet of crisps she sat down. He seemed to have gathered that whatever she wanted to talk about didn't mean the imminent end of the world, but she knew she had to stop drawing this out, and just speak.

"I remember," she said, the two words coming out so easily, which she didn't think was fair considering how they seemed to carry everything with them.

The Doctor stilled, and Rose was shocked that he was able to be so motionless. It didn't suit him. "Remember what?"

"Everything. No, not everything, far from it actually. Just...everything that seems to matter right now."

Nothing was coming out exactly as she planned, and before she could say anything further, The Doctor started talking again.

"And what exactly matters to you at the moment Rose? Because I don't think I've ever understood your priorities. I'm glad you've remembered, I really am. I'm just not sure I really want to hear what comes next." He was pacing now, back and forward, back and forward, and although she liked this better than his standing still, Rose was starting to get annoyed.

"You really do believe the world revolves around you. Even said it the first time I..." Rose cut herself off, swallowing loudly and ignoring his reaction. She inhaled once, and turned to him. "Did it ever occur to you that this may have absolutely nothing to do with you?"

He frowned as Rose continued you to speak. "It's quite telling actually that you automatically assumed I took the serum to forget you. Just you in fact, even though I'd lost all of my memories since I was nineteen. Do you think I just pretended our entire relationship? The months of working things out, trying to build a life together with you. Did you think I was just biding my time until Torchwood came up with the technology to give me an escape route?"

He seemed to be paralysed at her words, every muscle, every antsy twitch he usually displayed frozen over. Rose suddenly felt exceptionally guilty, and stood. She walked over to where he leaned against the desk. She took his head between her hands, trying to breathe life into him again.

"This isn't your fault. It's mine. You were right when you said I wouldn't speak to you. After that mission.." Her hand started to shake in his, and he snapped out of his stupor, gripping her hand tighter.

"They buried me alive."

The words hung in the air between them, and Rose found herself being guided to sit back down before she really knew what was happening. She opened her mouth to explain more about the event, to explain everything that had happened. But all that came out was a strange noise between a sob and a retch, and was crying without control. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, the expression of comfort only making her cry harder. Despite this, it did make her need to continue to talk, even if it wasn't about what had actually happened. Dealing with that was going to be a slow process, and would have to come later. Putting it off by trying to forget had obviously not helped.

"It was all I could see every time I shut my eyes, every time I stopped concentrating. I knew about the serum, and I knew I shouldn't do it. It wasn't tested, it could go so wrong, but I needed to do something. I couldn't talk to anyone, I just...it was too hard. I got it into my head that if I just forgot about that one aspect, those few hours of the day then I'd be able to cope."

Rose inhaled messily, The Doctor continuing to just hold her, just being silent, and warm, and there. It was all she could ask for and want in that moment.

"Of course it didn't work. I just forgot everything to do with aliens altogether instead of that one moment. It just felt as if it was the only thing I could do, and once I got the idea into my head, I couldn't let it go."

She felt The Doctor laugh. "Stubborn as always, that's my Rose."

The comment made her smile, despite the fact that her eyes ached from crying and they'd only just started to get everything out in the open. At least his words seemed positive, that she hadn't lost all in a moment of stupidity.

A quiet descended. The Doctor suddenly shifted, and Rose looked up towards him. He kissed her forehead, and she knew it would be alright. This wasn't an instant fix, not by a long way. But they'd brought it back from the edge, and eventually they'd work it out. That's what they did, what they always had done.

"I'm sorry," she said, knowing that the words didn't even come close to explaining her contrition. "I really am. It was stupid, and I've put everyone though..."

"It's okay, Rose," he answered softy.

"It's not. How can it be okay, just like that?"

He signed, and she sat up, reluctant to move away completely, but they needed space for this.

"You were going through something, you weren't exactly thinking straight. I wish you had spoken to me, I like to think we could have got through it. And we're still going to have to deal with that."

Rose nodded, her throat constricting as she did. She knew she needed to, but now wasn't the right time.

"But it is okay. I understand...in a way. You know my fixations." He smiled for the first time since this had spilled out between them, and Rose joined him, the hope she'd felt before increasing.

"I'm sorry too," he said. She must have looked confused, as he started to explain. "For assuming that it had to do with me."

Rose nodded, moving onto the next delicate subject. "I would have thought by now you'd know I would never have done that. I love you. Yes, I loved him, and some part of me will always love him. But that doesn't compare to the way I feel about you now."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

"Yes," his voice was strong, his resolve shone through. Rose nodded, knowing he was sincere.  
>He raised his hand to his head and pushed it through his hair. "I knew it all along. It just...it was like a nagging voice in the back of my mind. I thought I'd give you time, and you would come back to me. And then you didn't remember, and it started to just consume me I suppose. Until I woke up one day and believed it was me. I started to dread the day when you'd remember him before me."<p>

Rose smiled. "But that didn't happen."

It was his turn to smile. "No, it didn't. You remembered me. Us."

The hopeful feeling returned to the room, and Rose flopped back on the bed.

"We're a pair," she said, laughter escaping as she spoke. The bed moved and The Doctor came to lie beside her, taking her hand again.

"That we are. The Doctor and Rose, sabotaging their relationship everywhere they go."

Rose laughed loudly, and turned onto her side to face him. She raised a hand to his cheek.

"I really am sorry. You went through so much over the past eight months. You, mum, Pete. I don't know how to even start making it up to you all."

He shook his head. "Don't. We have things to deal with, but we also need to let it go. We won't be able to move forward if you spend the rest of your life feeling guilty."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "You should take your own advice."

He smiled and didn't answer, but Rose knew it was easier said than done for him. She leaned in and kissed him, a start of something new, a way forward.

#~#~#

She couldn't remember everything. They told her she might never be able to recall everything she'd lost. It was the price she would have to pay for messing with alien technology, and believing that she could just erase a problem. It bothered her sometimes, when she'd recall an incident from the past, but didn't remember why it had happened. A place where she'd travelled, but not the name. People who The Doctor spoke of that she couldn't remember meeting. Time would only tell if she'd ever get it all back again.

It would take time for Pete to trust her again. As her pseudo-father, he'd forgiven her in little time. As her boss, it would take longer to trust her with highly sensitive material and information again. She understood why he was reluctant to give her such a high level of responsibility so soon afterward. Her relationship with Michelle was strained but healing, something that again only time would completely mend. Her mother took in her stride, as she always did. Rose apologised, and apologised, and Jackie smiled, and let her make her own mistakes. The Doctor helped her with the echoes of the memories she had, helping her remember when he could, and helping when the memories just wouldn't return. They had their problems which they needed to overcome, but they would. She knew they would.

"Ready to go?" he asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. The day was bright and warm, the first of many to come as the summer rolled in. She put down the magazine she'd been vaguely staring up at, and smiled as she stood up. It was just past five thirty, and they were leaving work relatively on time. His arm was round her waist as they started to walk, the sun on her face, and his voice in her ear as he asked her a million questions. How was your afternoon? What shall we do tonight? Do we have to go to your mother's tomorrow, 9am is too early for breakfast...

She smiled, content to listen, walk and feel for the next few minutes, all the while the voice that had been whispering to her for so long seemed to say _this is right. It's meant to be this way. _


End file.
